Tiger Chronicles: The Trial of Susie Derkins
by Crazy Rob
Summary: As the dust of the summer's incidents finally begins to settle, Calvin seeks therapy by helping Susie with her charity project. However, to some, the most noble of acts somehow get interpreted as false, hypocritical, rebellious... even criminal.
1. Good Intentions

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter I: Good Intentions

IMPORTANT: Again, I don't own Calvin and Hobbes. I make no profit from these save for the reviews.

…

_"The problem is not with religion. It is not with the concept of organized worship, nor is the concept of belief in a higher power the cause for the tragedies we have seen."_

_ "The problem lies solely with people who abuse influence- like my father- to achieve their own personal whims. It doesn't even need to be a religious setting, I've found. All you need for the greatest evils the world has yet to imagine to emerge is someone with enough charisma and sufficiently deficient conscience to use their skills to organize a big enough mob to serve as the driving force behind an idea."_

_ "In the case of Rod and Whip, there was, as is the case in many of these tragedies, a scapegoat. Children. They wanted to lay at the feet of children as young as three years old all the faults, wrongs, and mishaps of society."_

_ "We know now that the leader of that compound preached that theirs was a noble goal and that, eventually, everyone would love and respect them. Aside from the very obvious error of trying to enforce obedience with fear, which fades as soon as the cause for fear does, the idea that no child or teen deserved respect until they had survived long enough for an arbitrary 'neoidentification' process denotes a lack of mutual respect."_

_ "If any authority, religious or not, demands respect and gives none in return, not even so much as to allow for confirmation of wrong-doing before punishing, and using discretion in meting out punishment, it sabotages itself from within."_

_ "We have heard, recently, from one of the survivors, Calvin Halgins, about "Catch 22 syndrome"- albeit not related to the disease, but rather a mentality- in which a subject whose obedience and adherence to a code of conduct or law is punished anyway eventually learns that their obedience or disobedience has no effect. I for one, strongly agree with this assessment, out of my own personal experiences. To someone who tried to avoid breaking any rules, to avoid any infractions, to obey their parents or authority figures to the best of their ability, the idea of "we're going to punish you anyway to ensure you keep obeying" is a slap in the face that evokes nothing but resentment towards authority and a distaste for order."_

_ "If organizations like Rod and Whip are allowed to continue the ideas of 'perpetual punishment' and 'pre-emptive discipline', then they will only serve to create the anarchy that they claim to seek to prevent."_

-statement given by Faith X, Matthew Wellfield's estranged daughter, at a conference following her release from hospital care.

…

Calvin reclined on the couch, drained. No one mentioned how exhausting verbally reliving an ordeal could be. No one told him he'd remember so vividly what he'd seen and heard.

But, as part of his 'therapy', he was asked to recount what he'd seen, both in the Rod and Whip compound, and in his nightmares.

"So the deaths of the children you were trying to save are what really got to you?" the psychoanalyst, a elder man, poised the question gently.

Goddamn stupid question. No, of course they don't bother him. Never mind he saw a little girl go limp and not get back up, that whenever he closed his eyes he could still see children shaking others who had passed away from their wounds, begging them to 'wake up'.

Never mind that **when** he could sleep, he saw the corpses rise, pointing fingers at him, saying words he could not make out.

"Yeah" he said finally. "They're…" he paused. "In my dreams."

The man was quiet for a few moments. "And what do they do?"

"They point. They say something I can't make out."

More silence.

"What do you think they're trying to say?"

Calvin heard himself respond despite his desire not to.

"You failed us."

What else could they be saying?

"Calvin," the man began again, "what you're seeing are just your mind reacting to what you saw. They didn't blame you for what happened to them. The ones who survived don't blame you. You did all that you could!"

The man couldn't have known the truth of that statement. He had tried to use the Transmogrifier to change some of the children, to at least stop them from dying, to no avail. The pain and their bodies' aches and groans trumped any whispers that it was 'going to be okay'.

The Transmogrifier Gun could, with sufficient belief- or at the very least, plausible cause- alter reality. He had made cars malfunction, grenades explode prematurely, turned toy guns into real, working ones, reloaded a gun in the middle of a firefight, and, though he had pinned the credit on another boy, Jason Fox, defused a bomb meant to level a military-grade facility once he had managed to convince the children imprisoned there that there was a bomb squad member on the case.

But it could not trump a person's own belief that they were hurt or dying.

For all the power the gun afforded him, it could not hold back death, erase wounds, or even ease pain. All Calvin had been able to do was transmute some boxes full of papers into bandages, splints, and medical supplies. Veronica Miles and Chutney Darly, two other prisoners he had met, had done the heavy medical work.

"Yeah." He conceded, the same gun still in his pocket. "Yeah, I guess."

He kept it with him now. A necessary precaution. Initially, he had intended to use it once- when he was under home invasion- and then leave it locked in a box under his bed, hopefully for all eternity.

Now he found himself relying on its reality-warping power as a defense. He had lost count of how many times he'd used it during the incident, and he prayed that the only toll the gun took was a physical drain on him. For all he knew, too much warping of the world could cause something worse. A distortion in the laws of time and space? A black hole? He didn't know, and didn't care to find out.

"I'm going to write you a prescription- just something to help you sleep. In the meantime, try and do something to get your mind distracted and off these events. If you keep telling yourself you're guilty, you're never going to get better."

Calvin mutely took the prescription and headed out the door, greeted by his mother.

"How'd it go?" she was trying to cheer him up.

"Okay." Calvin said, unable to lie any further. It was not 'okay'. The kids he had failed stayed dead. The people responsible remained on the loose. All the shrink could do was give him something for sleep. He held the prescription up, weakly trying at a joke. "We need to go see my drug dealer for another dose of happy pills."

His mother, bless her, tried to smile as they walked to the car.

Even after they had 'ungrounded' him once they felt it was safe for him to go outside, Calvin, drained by sleepless nights, had remained reclusive, searching for records on the Grindstone camps, on Rod and Whip, on the rumors coming up ever since their compound was raided.

Part research. Part standing over the remains of his enemy.

However, the fact was, that aside from the guards he had to gun down during his escape/rescue attempt, the higher ups of that compound were still on the run. He had a list all his own of people to look for.

Matthew Wellfields, ex-pastor of some church called "The Church of the Unyielding Rod". The entire story, about a church that emphasized daily corporal punishment as a means to prevent disobedience, made the whole thing stink of a cult-like religious sect. The fact that only six of the 50 children that were brought in by the church survived had sealed the deal. The asshole hadn't even treated his own daughter well- Faith Wellfields, or Faith X, as she called herself now, told a story, backed up by scars, sprains, fractures, and the testimony of her teachers, of how her father and mother had began beating her at age thirteen and never stopped, using lies about her being involved in drugs, pornography, and witchcraft as excuses as to why such excessive force was necessary.

Gregory, Diane, and Barry Wilkins. Curtis, one of the boys he had fought alongside during the incident, described in vivid, angry detail how he had lost sight of his brother during Obama's inauguration (due mostly to Barry running off), and the family had been increasingly abusive and hateful towards him ever since, culminating in assisting Rod and Whip in kidnapping Chutney to lure him out of hiding. If his and Chutney's reports were to be believed, Diane and Gregory were about to kill Chutney to punish him when Jason intervened.

Barry himself was a special case. Rod and Whip apparently considered him some sort of messiah, a 'ready neoidentification candidate'. Supposedly neoidentification meant a process by which obedience became the only priority for a child, but in Barry's case it seemed that he, by nearly beating to death a five-year old girl, Hope Miles, had proven himself so sadistic and devoted to the destruction of innocent life that one of Rod and Whip's best 'breakers' had deemed him of their own.

Mary Gathwells, who reportedly was responsible for Barry's brief training, was described sympathetically as a psychopath. More often, she was referred to as a soulless bitch, who, during her brief career as a teacher, had caused more injuries in her students than all the accidents and fights at her school combined over a three year period. She had apparently been recruited by Rod and Whip as a breaker- an agent whose sole purpose was to physically and emotionally destroy the children they kidnapped or fooled families to turn over to them for 'discipline'.

Sir Father, real name unknown, the head of that particular compound. Whether the 'Sir Father' was a personal code name or just the rank given to Rod and Whip agents of his stature, Calvin was unsure. It had been Sir Father who, once Jason had managed to send off an email containing information that would incriminate Rod and Whip, had armed the self-destruct sequence, and, over the P.A. system, blamed him and the others for 'forcing' him to do so.

That these people were still on the loose, not dead, or in a prison cell at the mercy of other inmates, was an injustice Calvin wanted remedied as soon as possible. So he did not complain when the men bearing FBI badges wanted to talk to him about the details of the compound, no matter how many times he had to explain to an incredulous agent, certain they'd heard incorrectly, that he had been fired upon with a rocket launcher.

To top it all off, school started in a week.

Eighth grade, and he had an entire criminal organization out for his blood.

Calvin, with a great bitterness, remembered how his biggest obstacle during his past school years was that school was boring. That something would liven up the drudgery.

He had gotten his wish, it seemed.

…

**AUGUST**

The start of eighth grade came too soon, for Calvin's tastes.

He could have done without the stares, too, as he made his way to homeroom.

By now, everyone knew about Calvin Halgins, the daring, heroic boy who infiltrated a compound full of cultists bent on child abuse, fought his way through thousands of soldiers, saved hundreds of lives, and still had the guts to spit in the face of the people who wanted him dead. Some bloggers had even gone so far as to call him the 'toughest boy in Ohio'.

What shocked them was that the Calvin they'd heard about and the Calvin they knew- the 'noodle incident' kid- were one in the same.

Oh, the tales they told varied from mild embellishing to outright lunacy. In the milder versions, he'd snuck in, crawled through the air vents, sabotaged the security systems, and gunned down hundreds of soldiers- all armed to the teeth- after a failed kidnapping, in which he gunned down both his kidnappers and stole their car.

In the more fanciful stories, he'd deliberately set himself up to be kidnapped, killed the agents sent to retrieve him, drove the car through Rod and Whip's front door, and led the child prisoners to revolt against their captors, charging at the fore of them, gunning down leagues of guards with an ak-47, or a sub machine gun, or two shotguns held in both hands, depending on whom you asked.

What the stories didn't tell, however, was what got to him.

About how the worst of Rod and Whip was still out there. How this was only one compound out of God-only-knew how many. About the children who, contrary to popular tales, didn't die fighting for freedom, rather, they died, alone, scared, and in pain, in the crude triage center Veronica Miles had set up, under the care of the best doctors and surgeons, who for all their skill could not undo the damages done by repeated beatings and, in several cases, repeated injections of a toxin meant to increase pain, dubbed by one survivor as "Whip Venom", or for some, they had died before Calvin had ever even heard of the center, beaten or starved to death.

Worst of all, the stories seemed to portray him as something straight out of a video game, a nigh-invincible hero who shrugged off injury and gunned down foes without so much as a stumble. That some aura of raw courage surrounded him, giving him super-human powers, when the reality was that he owed his life to a device he didn't wholly understand, and even with it, one bullet that escaped his notice would mean the end. No continues, no reloading a save point.

He became aware of another eighth-grader, someone he'd never met- a boy about his age, brown hair, punk-wannabe with a heavy metal t-shirt and fake metal piercings. "Dude, how's it feel to kick so much ass?"

That question got some heads turned. Conversations died as ears strained to hear what the crowd was sure would be a recounting of a war story, along with tips as to the sure-fire way to defeat a grown-man trying to kill you, even if you were half their height and weight. Silence fell in the wake of the question- everyone wanted to hear the 'master' speak.

It was time for a dose of reality.

"You mean, how does it feel to kill someone?" Calvin stated this correction without malice. He had no intent of dressing down the boy, but it was time to dispel a few myths.

"Uh, yeah." Minor discomfort, from him, from those around him. 'Ass-kicking' must've felt more comfortable a way of phrasing it. Not that he could blame him- "How's it feel to shoot someone with the sole intent of killing them" had a very venomous, inflammatory feel to it.

"All right. I'll tell you. I felt afraid."

This was not the answer they expected or wanted to hear.

"Because it's not like firing one of those recoil pistols in the arcade or an air-gun. There's a kick, and if you let go, it's going to fly out of your hands, smash your jaw open."

Now they were interested. They seemed to think he was going to give them a grim, gritty survival lecture.

"But for me, there wasn't any time to think. I would shoot and shoot, hoping I'd hit someone before I ran out of ammo and then I would duck behind anything- anything- before they could shoot me back. The recoil is a bitch, and when you're running and dodging **and **trying to shoot at something, well, you can be firing at someone ten feet from you and never hit them once. Oh, and after a few rounds, your finger and hand start to ache. It physically gets harder to just pull the trigger. Oh, and on that note, remember when I'm talking about shooting a gun, I mean I'm doing it like this-"

And he pantomimed, holding his right hand as a gun in his left, how he needed both hands to steady it. For a few seconds the students around him, and those who had gathered in the doorway to hear the tale, backed away, startled, unsure if Calvin was incapable of shooting someone with just his bare hand.

He waited until they were certain he wasn't going to fire bullets out of his index finger before he continued.

"-meaning that to just try and hit someone, I needed both hands on one gun. So, those stories you may have heard where I held a gun in each hand and did Matrix stuff? No. It doesn't work that way at all."

"-but that brings me back to your question." The punk boy looked uncomfortable now.

"How does it feel to kill someone? Well, at first, you don't feel anything, except for fear, which I said, or adrenaline, depending on the situation. That lasts for as long as the adrenaline does. When it wears off, and you have time to think, you know what you feel?"

No one dared to venture a guess. Stone silence with nearly a hundred junior-high kids. Any teachers observing would think it was a miracle.

"Nothing." Calvin said simply.

And when the punk boy and all the other students began to relax, he, to their horror, continued. "You feel a great, big, overwhelming **nothing** in your chest. You ever heard of black holes? That's what it's like- a big ball of nothing, growing bigger inside you, crushing everything. Like something's been ripped out of you, and it's not coming back, ever. And that feeling of nothingness? One, that's what I feel, knowing that the people I had to shoot were willing to kill me for the sake of being able to keep torturing kids. Two, feeling that nothing is a **good** sign. It means you're still human. If you don't feel it, you need to check yourself in. Or so I'm told."

They now looked at him as if he had just got done telling them he had some sort of horrible, incurable malady, a reaction he didn't think entirely unwarranted.

"Q and A is over, folks. Please… please just leave me alone for a bit."

Partly out of some sense of respect, as if he were some grizzled war hero, and partly out of fear, as if he could kill anyone who irritated him further, they left him alone, not even looking at him directly.

Calvin only barely registered the rest of the day. Announcements. Regulations. Forms to be signed.

The name Derkins got his attention, and he looked at one of the forms.

He felt himself smile.

If there was a person in whom he had the confidence to point at, before Rod and Whip and everyone else who supported the idea of perpetual punishment and children being inherently evil, and say, with full confidence, "You are wrong, dead wrong, and here is my proof", it was Susie Derkins.

In recent years, she'd broadened her scope from mere academic excellence to community service. Religious but not a bible-thumper, she eschewed the tactics of beating people over the head with scripture in favor of aiding those who needed it most- the poor, the ill.

Now, even as the school year was starting up, she was organizing a charity food, clothing, and electronics drive for the city's impoverished and homeless, encouraging students via flyers to help out.

Checking his schedule, Calvin saw he had journalism class next, something he had signed up for, writing quickly becoming something of a forte for him.

The world could wait for another dose of doom and gloom, and he needed a break from the constant self-inflicted torture that was going over the events of the compound liberation.

…

It had cost her personally, this endeavor.

Monetarily, at least. Her parents had asked her several times, "are you sure?" regarding her using the $100 check she was given for her birthday towards the charity event she was planning.

She had thought about it, long and hard, and she had decided the memory of one good thing was worth whatever she could buy in the short term.

The money went quickly- into supplies for the event. Into the flyers. Into getting a permit to host the event in the middle of downtown. But slowly, steadily, support from her fellow students and her teachers came pouring in.

The event was two weeks away, and with the planning and her schoolwork, she had very little time to herself- her time at home became a routine of planning, schoolwork, dinner, and sleep, and though she had no regrets about her decision to do this, she was looking forward to getting it done and finished, and relaxing a little.

She had finished putting away her books in her locker, preparing to go home, when she noticed someone standing to her right.

Calvin.

Her initial response was to ask "what do you want, jerk?", but she realized that she, as of late, had very little contact with him over the past two years. What with the efforts to get Calvin passing his classes of two years ago, he had no time whatsoever to pull pranks or any sort of mischief she had come to expect of him.

This year, however, even during the summer, which she heard he had earned with unprecedented straight B's, he had an entirely different reason for staying inside.

The details were sketchy and rumors abounded ranging from the simply ludicrous to the drug-addled, post-lobotomy ridiculous, but the gist was that Calvin had somehow come under fire by an agency specializing in boot camps, which turned out to be (and here she had been sure she was being misinformed) a cult dedicated to child abuse, and after evading capture several times by this cult, Calvin had, of his own volition, tracked down their hideout, stormed it, and freed hundreds of children alongside five other people.

It sounded like some sort of bad 'darker and gritty' Kids Next Door fanfiction, and if the tale was centered around anyone else, anyone but Calvin "we still don't know how he caused that big an explosion with cold rotini noodles" Halgins, she would have dismissed it as fictitious and gave it not another thought.

But there were the news stories, the investigations, and the warnings to parents to watch their children, and these lent credibility to the story.

She gave him a cursory glance, and didn't like what she saw at all.

Calvin's usual 'devil may care' grin and carefree smile was gone, replaced by a weariness that didn't belong on anyone his age, much less Calvin Halgins. He looked as if he had been having trouble sleeping; dark bags under his eyes.

The details of his summer were still vague, but Susie knew one thing for sure- whatever Calvin did, it had cost him dearly.

"You doing okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine" he said with what might have been his cool, dismissive tone, but wasn't. "I just wanted to ask something- is it okay if I write about this charity event going on? For the school newspaper?"

The impulse she fought now was to hold this imposter down, scream for the police, tell them to look for the real Calvin.

"Why?" she managed. "It's not going to be anything fancy, just a charity event-"

"I know. I just wanna be able to do something that doesn't have anything to do with… you know."

So it was that bad. Whatever happened to Calvin, it was so traumatic he didn't even want to talk about it anymore, whereas the old Calvin would be weaving fanciful tales about anything that came close to adventure.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder. "You should come to the charity event, then. Help out."

Then she added "I find helping others helps me put my problems in perspective, personally."

It had been a risky gambit, but he had smiled, seemingly pleased with her permission and her suggestion.

"Oh, Calvin-"

He stopped as he was walking away.

"If you ever want to talk, call me, okay?"

He turned, smiled. He looked, at the very least, less tired.

"Okay."

Sometimes, making someone less tired or miserable for a little while was all she could do.

…

Calvin walked home, rather than ride the bus. Partly because the buses were, as usual, packed to overflowing, stinking of hormones and body odor from the many students who had yet to learn the virtues of habitual bathing. Partly because he wanted to think.

Talking to Susie was, sadly, out. She didn't need to know the gory details of the events he'd seen, nor did she need to act as his emotional punching bag. She had enough on her plate as it was.

Her suggestion to participate rather than sit back and write made sense, though. If nothing else, it'd tire him out enough that he could sleep well. Maybe doing some good would help his conscience.

He became aware, slowly of a car following him. Not speeding past, but slowing down to tail him.

He spun- if Rod and Whip was back on their feet enough to attack him again then…

A cop car.

Already, considering the fact the local police department had been infiltrated deeply enough that the people sent to escort him to a safehouse turned out to be Rod and Whip agents, cops cars evoked a certain sense of dread and unease in Calvin.

But this particular one held a special place in Calvin's list of things to avoid, and all too quickly he remembered why he rode the bus home every day, regardless of the heat, cold, or stench.

Moe Caldern, the stereotypical thug/bully/extortionist given flesh and put on earth to torment others, stepped out of the passenger seat as the car came to a stop.

His presence was bad enough, but someone had to drive the car…

Out of the driver's side stepped Joe Caldern.

Once, after Moe had given Calvin a particularly savage beating for refusing to give him money, his parents and Joe Caldern were called in to discuss the matter. Derrick Halgins, Calvin's father had threatened a lawsuit. Caldern had suggested they give the two boys knives and let them settle it once and for all, a suggestion that fell on deaf and appalled ears.

The settlement had been for just enough to cover stitches. In this day and age, Calvin could have gotten Moe suspended and arrested.

No such luck now, even given a repeated beating.

How Joe Caldern, an overweight, sadistic, extra-strength formula version of Moe became a cop, Calvin wasn't sure, but details didn't matter now.

What mattered was that, as of last fall, Joe Caldern had a gun and the license to use it.

It became readily obvious to Moe's victims that anyone who complained about his actions would have to deal with Joe. Those who complained about broken noses had weed found in their lockers.

The principal knew it was bullshit. The teachers knew it was bullshit. The students who watched the victims of these frame-jobs be hauled out of school by none other than Joe Caldern himself knew it was bullshit. But that didn't stop it from happening.

The charges never stuck- a lawyer needed only a few minutes with the school security cameras or the teachers to get enough evidence or witnesses to exonerate the accused. But even when the charges were dismissed, the accused were broken, somehow. Walked stiffly. Limped. Two of them had moved away, and no charges against Joe, of corruption or otherwise, ever stuck.

"There a problem, _officer_?" Calvin found he couldn't quite eradicate the contempt in his voice. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, feeling two reassuring items. One, in his right pocket, was the transmogrifier gun that had saved him so many times. The other in his left was something he had meant to use should Rod and Whip get him cornered and he had no way to run- a tape recorder, meant to provide a record of his confrontation and what might be his last moments. He clicked that on, suppressing a smile.

"Yeah, several problems." Joe did a quick look around to make sure no one was within listening distance. "Your face, for starters. Then there's the fact your breathing annoys me and my son, and wastes oxygen. Third, you're dumb as a brick made of shit, twice as useless, and, oh, and the fact your hair looks like you just pissed on a power line."

Calvin wondered, silently, why the man didn't get the word "Asshole" tattooed across his face. It would be a good warning for anyone unfamiliar with him. At least he didn't have any false pretenses.

"Now, normally, that's just who you are, and I'm not one to blame someone who had the misfortune to be born dumb and ugly. But there's a price to pay for making my son put up with having to look at you. Oh, and seeing as you've had the summer to save up, the price is up to $20 bucks."

"Apiece." Moe added, greed flaring in his eyes.

Calvin turned out his pockets, revealing only a set of housekeys- he'd thankfully stashed the Transmogrifier Pistol in his jacket pocket. "I don't carry cash anymore. Just a lunch account at school. One of the little precautions my parents set up when I 'lost' 60 bucks in one day." He stuffed his hands back in his jacket. A smart cop would tell him to keep his hands visible. Joe was probably lucky to have the IQ to tell which end the bullets came out of his gun. Or he didn't considered Calvin a threat.

Joe frowned. "Then I'll be taking your backpack, jacket, shoes, keys, and yeah, just to make sure you have the money next, your shirt, pants, and briefs."

A thug, through and through. "Hey, I don't consent to any searches, much less you taking all my stuff, not without a lawyer present…"

Joe drew his gun. If that was how he wanted to play…

"Hand it over, now, or you get a bullet in your head." Joe had the same look on his face Calvin had seen on the agents of Rod and Whip- a visage of anger mixed with a world-class entitlement complex.

"So now-" Calvin said, feigning shock and horror, "You're threatening kids because they won't give your kid money?" Time to reveal one of his secret weapons.

He pulled out the tape recorder, which elicited the reaction he had hoped to get- Moe and Joe both at least recognized what having their extortion attempt on tape meant, horror creasing their faces.

Joe's next reaction, however, was not what Calvin had planned on.

"Screw this." Joe leveled the gun at Calvin and fired, Calvin jerked to the side instinctively, something white hot clipped his ear, bringing searing pain. The man had gone off the deep end. Stunned, Calvin squeezed the trigger of the transmogrifier gun as he aimed from inside his pocket, willing the gun to jam…

But Joe was faster, firing again just as Calvin pulled the trigger, and the bullet slashed his left side.

Calvin screamed and went down on his knees, clutching his side, pain radiating through his body- the bullet had glanced off his rib.

Joe advanced. "Shoulda handed your shit over, kid. Coulda walked away with a little less dignity but kept your life." He raised the gun to point directly at Calvin's face.

"Dad, wait…" Moe started, advancing.

Calvin blinked. Could the boy have limits? Of course. He should have known better. Moe may have been a bully and a thug, but of course he wasn't a **murderer-**

"I wanna do it."

Calvin blanched despite the pain, watched as Joe considered briefly, shrugged, and handed his son the gun.

"For the record," Calvin gasped, feeling blood soak his shirt and jacket, "I fucking hate both of you." If this didn't work…

"Feeling's mutual, twinkie."

He had counted on Moe gloating, taking crucial moments to stop and give one last insult, one last jab before killing him, and Moe, in all his single-tracked mind glory, had complied beautifully. He squeezed again, focused on the gun, willed it to jam, break, **something-**

There was a deafening bang, and a moment later, Moe was holding, holding his injured hand, wounded from the police revolver backfiring horrifically for no reason whatsoever.

Calvin stood, sneering at Joe, whose look of gloating had turned to plain confusion. "Don't make guns like they used to, do they?"

Joe simply reached into his car, and Calvin saw the stock of a rifle- a shotgun.

Calvin felt his head spin Pain was a distracting factor that was making what were ordinarily endurable drains from the gun all the more debilitating. He wasn't sure how long he could keep them at bay in this state, and that had been with a glancing wound- the bullet had grazed him.

Something honked behind him. A car, getting closer…

Moe looked up, eyes going wide, and scrambled to get out of the way. Calvin followed suit-

Right as a car plowed head-on into the Cop car, sending Joe sprawling.

"GET IN!" A familiar voice, not mom or dad, but any port in a storm…

Calvin grabbed the tape recorder, made sure it was still working, still recording, made a mad scramble into the backseat just as Joe staggered to his feet…

Whoever was driving was skilled- they were far enough away from Joe that, once he recovered, only a few of the pellets fired from the shotgun hit the car…

Regaining his bearings, Calvin recognized a familiar smell. Old chips and soda. The interior of the vehicle was a station wagon…

"Hey, Uncle Max." Calvin spoke once he caught his breath. "Long time no see."

…

The news that his car had a camera to record the events of his patrol came as a shock to Joe Caldern.

Of more drastic impact however, was his being informed that, with the video evidence that showed him firing on a minor, then handing the gun over to his son to finish the job, then going to retrieve a shotgun, his report that Calvin had jumped in front of the car and started throwing rocks held little weight. Nor did the tape recording of his extortion attempt help matters at all.

The final slap in the face was, as he was being led to his cell, stripped of his weapons, being informed that due to his attempted murder of a minor in a failed extortion attempt, Max Halgins, the interfering uncle of Calvin, would not be charged.

All the old instances of complaints were going to be used against him, too. That meant several charges of corruption, planting evidence, unlawful detainment, police brutality of minors, extortion, fraud… all tacked on to this current case's slew of attempted murder.

His son was in juvenile hall. Without his father to twist the story favorably for him, Moe's past, full of petty assault charges and extortion- was going to be used against him.

Ex-cops had it worst in the pen, there was no doubt about that. Even if he got a plea bargain for reduced time, there was no guarantee of his safety. His son was tough, but being tough meant very little when you had numbers against you, and the notoriety of being a crooked cops' son.

Bail had been flat out denied. The judge had deemed him a flight risk, but the look in her eyes clearly stated _"Because fuck you, that's why"_ when she had heard about his attack on Calvin Halgins, apparently now a celebrated hero, what with some business about a cult and boot camps.

His trial was twelve days away, but the evidence against him was pretty much iron-clad.

It was going to be a long time to wait just to hear a guilty verdict.

…

"…and you can be **god-damned sure **that I will be mentioning your screw up over the summer when I file suit against your police department for this!" Derrick Halgins shouted into his cell, clicking it off.

From what Calvin could gather as he lay there in the hospital, examining his stitches, his parents, given the summer's incident where two Rod and Whip agents infiltrated the police department, were already pissed about the lack of security they had seen, and a corrupt cop taking potshots at their kid had not helped matters in the slightest.

"So, uh, I may be a little behind in current events, but I drive down here to visit, Calvin's being shot at, I have to ram a cop car- again-"

Calvin would have to ask about that.

"…and now I'm hearing about him being hunted by a cult for releasing human sacrifices? Could someone fill me in?"

And so Uncle Max had gotten the short and gritty version of the summer's events from him. The initial boot camp he avoided with good grades, where an agent of Rod and Whip still tried to retrieve him anyway. The email with the virus. The home invasion. The third kidnapping attempt. How Calvin somehow killed one agent and crippled another, then managed to find his way to the compound where he proceeded to unleash havoc on every agent who crossed his path.

"As for why they shot at me, they wanted money. I didn't have any. Then they wanted my clothes-"

"Like, your jacket and shoes?" Betty Halgins handed him a cup of water, from which Calvin drank deeply.

"No, like, all my clothes, everything, underwear included."

Disbelief showed in his parents faces.

"Then, when I told him I wanted a lawyer, he pulled out his gun. So I showed him the tape recorder, and that's when he started shooting."

The looks of shock and rage they gave him were enough to solidify his belief that if he didn't have both a video recording backing it up and an audio recording of the threats, he'd never get anyone to believe his story.

"That's when Moe asked to finish you off?" his father asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah." In a way it was vindicating for Calvin. There was nothing redeeming about his tormentor, everyone could see that now. In other ways, it was sickeningly depressing- if Susie Derkins was his personified rebuttal to Rod and Whip's argument children were inherently evil, then Moe was their evidence.

Or, given how quickly they'd warmed up to Barry, he'd be a welcome ally with his sadism. Curtis had told Calvin in unflinching detail about how, over the years, Barry had gone from a mere brat to a full-blown sadist, whose devotion to making those around him- namely Curtis and other children younger than him- was so pure, Rod and Whip saw him as an ally. If they got their hands on Moe, he would all too easily mold into a role of tormenting their prisoners- no restraints meant Moe wouldn't need to maintain a façade of morality for the purpose of appearing harmless to a stray teacher.

Max shook his head. "So, what, did I miss something? Did all the wackos of the world get together and say "Hey, you know what? Let's really pour it on this year"?"

Calvin sat up, wincing as he did. "Grindstone, or Rod and Whip, has been around a while. They just recently got more confident. As for Moe and Joe? They've been assholes since the day we met."

But as they discussed who to sue and how one couldn't trust a police officer these days, Calvin sat in thought. Rod and Whip's activities would have had to have been ramped up only recently, of they had been operating on the scale he'd seen in that single compound, there was simply no way no one would have taken notice.

If in fact they had recently just become more aggressive in retrievals and recruitment, what- or who- had spurred them?

…

It had taken a doctor's okay and several hours of assuring his parents he'd be fine for them to let Calvin go to Susie's charity drive to do his report for journalism class and the school paper, but they had finally agreed he could go, provided he stayed with the group, caused no trouble, and reported in hourly via cell phone.

Hobbes was against it through and through, though.

"You have got to be kidding me. You just escaped hell on earth AND a cop trying to kill you, and now you want to go downtown? Alone?"

Calvin shook his head. "I won't be alone. There's going to be lots of adults, lots of students, lots of witnesses all around. If Rod and Whip or any of Joe's friends… well, if he _has _any friends- try anything, they're not going to get away."

Hobbes crossed his arms. "So you're dead, but they leave a lot of witnesses that may think twice about speaking up or testifying. **Bra**vo."

Calvin frowned. "You're a tiger. Do you charge into the middle of a herd, or pick off the animals who are alone?"

"…the loners." Hobbes conceded. "But that's dealing with an entirely melee perspective. These people have guns and cars. They'll just spray lead in your direction and speed off, not giving a damn if they mow down fifty or so innocent people in the process-"

"Yeah, but remember- we've got cell phone cameras, anonymous hotlines, and probably security cameras on several streets. It's not a risk I'd take if I wanted to kill someone."

Hobbes growled low, and for a moment, Calvin wondered if he was going to physically prevent him from leaving. To others, Hobbes was just a stuffed toy. To Calvin, he was real, which made him a good confidant and ally, but also a legitimate threat if he disagreed too strongly.

"Fine. But if things go south, you get out of there- no heroics? Promise?"

Calvin nodded. "Promise."

That made the tiger relax a bit, and he curled up to sleep.

Heading downstairs, he grabbed a sack lunch, several bottles of water, and headed out the door. His parents would be busy with discussing a lawsuit, but they had arranged for someone from the school to pick him up. One of the teachers.

A car pulled up- old Honda civic. Not that Calvin complained about cars, or that he expected much from a teacher's salary.

He was about to say a word of thanks when the driver stepped out, when he- and the driver- got a good look at each other.

Ms. Wormwood spoke first. "…oh God dammit. Not _you _again."

…

The drive downtown was in silence for a good portion. Wormwood insisted that Calvin stay in the shotgun backseat, convinced he could destroy the car anywhere else. Granted, he could very easily disable a car like this, but that was something he'd prefer her not to know.

She might have been a good teacher as far as academics went, but one flaw Wormwood had- and was seemingly oblivious to- was that she had her mind set on how certain people were always going to be, and once set on her views, she didn't change her mind. So it did not matter that several years had passed, that Calvin was doing better in school, or that recently he became a minor hero.

As evident by the dagger-glare she cast him every five minutes, she still thought of him as an incorrigible youth, who dragged everyone around him down.

"So, are you going to get her thrown in jail, too?" her tone was acidic enough to burn through steel.

Ironically, she had thought of Moe as a victim of Calvin, rather than vice-versa, and when Moe had, in desperation, explained his harassment tactics as retaliation for Calvin's 'distracting him from class', she had been sympathetic. That sentiment was as strong as ever now.

"Well," Calvin said, feeling offended, "her dad's likely not going to pull a gun on me, and even if he did, her first reaction would not be to ask if she could finish me off." There was politeness, and then there was stating the blatantly obvious. The dashboard camera and audio recording were all over the internet and news.

Wormwood did not take her eyes off the road, but Calvin could feel her scowl. "We both know you provoked him."

"How? By not having money? By walking home? By wearing the wrong color pants? You had to have seen the tapes, heard the recording-"

"You did something earlier, I know it." Her tone was firm, but Calvin allowed himself a smirk as he heard that telltale uncertainty, that decline in confidence that marked her grasping at straws.

"Look," Calvin said, not wanting to have to walk the rest of the way to- or home from- the event. "I know that you think I'm still the antichrist incarnate. I also know you think that someone like Moe, who hands you an apple and says 'ma'am' every time he sees you can do no wrong. And you know what? That's **fine **with me, plenty of other people think I'm Satan or his right-hand man. After, you know, dealing with a cult and being shot, I don't have the energy to convince you that people change and aren't always what they seem. I'm just going to write a story about something that isn't doom and gloom."

Wormwood inhaled, as if about to launch a scathing rebuttal, but something must've struck home, because she fell silent for minutes.

Then she spoke, more softly this time. "I miss when the most outrageous thing you did was act like a superhero to get out of taking tests."

Calvin gave a dry laugh. "Funny. So do I."

…

Susie had expected Calvin to brag about his gunshot wound. Had expected him to need reminding he was here to work and write, not tell war stories. Had expected him to do something, give some vestige of the old prankster he was.

But Calvin worked hard and stopped only to eat, write, and use the restroom, occasionally needing a break when his side bothered him.

The news that he had been shot had been a shock to the school. That it was Joe and Moe Caldern who were responsible was not.

If he was in constant pain, he didn't show it. When he wasn't sorting food donations or aiding in distribution, he was talking to the families who needed assistance. Rather than be pushy or barrage them with questions, Calvin would approach, strike up conversation, and sit and record the responses from those who volunteered them.

It was a startling professionalism to see from someone who regularly made snow sculptures that would have given Lovecraft pause.

Not that Susie had much time to watch Calvin. As the vanguard of this effort, she had to keep busy- organizing, leading volunteers, directing, answering questions from reporters who seemed to always get right in the way as she was trying to do something, asking the same damn questions over and over again.

What made her decide to do this? The kids at school who could only afford a banana for lunch. The news a friend's father had been laid off and that they had to choose between air conditioning and paying the water bill. Maybe it was the 'Christians' who thought spreading God's love meant picketing funerals, and she felt that she could set a good example. They could take their pick.

Around mid-day, Calvin walked up to her, shirt damp with sweat, notepad and recorder in hand. "Okay, Ms. Derkins. Now I get to play 'stupid question time' with you. You've probably been asked this fifty times, but for the school paper, what made you decide to do this?"

If he was going to work his ass off for her, he at least deserved an intelligent answer.

"To many people, homelessness and poverty is 'someone else's problem', or something they expect the poor and homeless to remedy themselves. What many people forget is that to get out of their situation, these people need clothes to go apply for a job, food to sustain themselves, sometimes an old cell phone to receive calls. Moreover, a lot of people just think you get homeless by drug addictions or making really dumb decisions. That's not the case. If a family has one 'breadwinner' that loses their job and can't find another quickly, bills add up, fast. I'm not saying we should pay for someone's lifestyle forever, but if we can make minor sacrifices to help someone out of homelessness, it's better for the community in the short and long run."

Susie drank deeply from a water bottle as some adults, gathered to participate or watch the spectacle, applauded. She decided she could avoid telling them she'd rehearsed that line in the mirror several times.

But then, why had she given the big name reporters short answers, and saved her best for Calvin?

_Because I was busy. s_he told herself. _Because Calvin did more than just stand around and look cute. _

There were more 'because's, but she still had a job to do.

…

For many people who looked at Susie Derkins, they saw in her a girl that was as close to Mother Teresa as an eighth grader could reasonably aspire to be. A self-sacrificing spirit of kindness who preached her faith and beliefs through actions rather than mere reciting of a book.

However, Simon Highweller, a judge for twenty years, saw her for what she truly was: a dangerous religious nutcase who undermined his work with these empty, ineffective public relations displays.

His was a very luxurious condo, bought with hard-earned money from his years of service as a judge, and outfitted with elements of luxury that even now tempted him from his task- the flat screen, the swimming pool, the imported wines.

He sat at his computer, reviewing the article that had piqued his interest while browsing. He had intended, originally, for a quiet night of rest and relaxation, but now he had more important objectives.

The truth about children, he'd found, was that they had a dangerous habit of only following the law so long as it suited them, and so long as they were watched with wary eyes. Once either of those factors- the personal tastes, or the distrust necessary to keep them in line- faded, it was only a matter of time before their innate anarchic tendencies kicked in.

This Derkins girl was preaching a dangerous idea, even if she didn't wholly know it- the idea that adherence to the law and good works were means by which a child could render themselves immune to the law's punishments. Her actions had made so many see her as a child who could do no wrong- Ohio bloggers had praised her 'selfless sacrifice' and her inspiring many other students in her city to do the same.

A hundred dollars and one weekend down and they were ready to accept her as a messiah. He, silently, wished he'd known that was the way to go about gaining popularity- it would have saved him thousands in campaign expenses.

As it was, Susie Derkins was, intentionally or not, spreading an idea that threatened the community he had struggled to build- a gathering of people who thought like him, could see through the dancing bear acts people like Derkins put on, see the truth- that beneath the benevolent façade was someone like any other child- a potential anarchist who inherently bucked at law and tradition, and needed constant discipline to beat out their inherent flaws. That unquestioned acceptance of those who were called to interpret the law- namely him- was necessary for order.

Her actions undermined his authority, and Highweller had long ago learned the problems that arose when one tried to convey authority with mere words to someone of Susie's age and mentality.

They- the coddling public, the people who she seduced- would not understand what must be done, not in this year, likely not in several years. He was no wide-eyed idealist; the changes he wanted to bring about would take years of effort on his part and all those who were loyal to order. They would call his methods vicious, baseless, antagonistic- as they had before, when he had handed down 'cruel and unusual' sentences to those in his courts.

History would show, in time, that she had struck the first blow in a subtle campaign of undermining his authority. He would see to that.

The winners, after all, were the ones who wrote the books.


	2. The Lecture

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter II: The Lecture

…

"_It was so very easy for the parents who followed my mother and father to justify their actions- God, through my father, was preaching a means by which to ensure against rebellion via pre-emptive punishments which went past simple paddling and into the realms of the most heinous of child abuse. Food denial. Flogging for hours at a time. Being made to sleep standing up. Denying their children the restroom. Constant degradation. Ask any of the few who survived- they will tell you I am not exaggerating."_

"_The problem, aside from the blatantly obvious one of the punishments being eventually lethal in many cases, is that the man who advocated them was __**lying.**__ I don't know how he justified lying about me to himself or my mother, and I certainly don't have any clue whatsoever as to what he hoped to achieve by advocating a system of abuse so cruel that the parents who subscribed to it happily handed over their children to strangers for the express purpose of beating them even more harshly. If he in fact hoped to achieve via this systematic breaking of the body and spirit a heightened reliance on God for peace and salvation, then he has failed, miserably."_

"_Many of the survivors now look at the bible as a manual of torture, not caring to read it for themselves, and who can blame them? For nearly all of them, their entire lives have centered around one basic principle- God wanted them to be hurt every day. Some clung to the belief there was a point, a reason for all the pain- that one day, maybe, a demon would fall out of them, and run screaming back to hell, and their punishment would end once this devil had been exorcised. Instead, they watched children like them die, abandoned by their parents to be demolished along with an abandoned torture factory. It is no wonder then, now seeing these words for lies, that so many of them have come to hate."_

"_The effects however, do not stop at mere maltheist complexes. This sort of treatment- punishment without cause, constant degradation by figures of authority, the preaching of lies by those who they were taught to revere as a figure of moral righteousness- these serve to make them anarchic by nature, seeing authority and law not as barriers to hold back the ills of a lawless society- but as chains, tight and gouging."_

"_My point, for those who prefer speedy reading, is thus: If you want your children, or anyone for that matter, to respect law and order, then reward and punishment must be meted out fairly. It is not unreasonable for one, regardless of age, to expect non-punishment as a reward for compliance with rules."_

-Journals of Faith X, "Seeds of Maltheism and Distrust".

…

**SEPTEMBER**

"If I see one more worksheet of word problems, someone is going to be stapled to a wall, smeared with honey, and covered with ants."

Calvin bemoaned his workload to his feline friend as he worked on another night's workload. Hobbes, for once, had to concede Calvin had a point- the workload had long since ceased to use repetition as a means for memory reinforcement- now it was becoming monotonous.

It didn't help matters that the teacher demanded painstakingly detailed workings out of the problem by hand, and was notorious for deducting points for insufficient scratchwork- Calvin had gotten every problem correct on his last homework assignment, and his teacher, a Ms. Kalen, had deducted points from his shorthand working outs enough that his grade was reduced to an 80, injustice enough that it had prompted an incredulous call by Calvin's mother to complain about the lunacy of such a system.

"It's like mom said," Calvin grumbled as he finished the last problem with nearly a quarter page of redundant working out of steps, "we're being assigned math problems, not writing damned novels."

Hobbes looked over some of the required work-showing. "So she's making you rewrite the division equation each time you subtract a digit?"

"Yep."

"Does she-"

"Give a reason? 'It's so you learn to appreciate the methods of math step by step. Quality and quantity, quality and quantity,' over and over and over she chants that, even during tests, for God's sake." Calvin shoved the work into his pack with disgust. "I don't have to put up with this in any of my other classes. Sure, there's a lot of work, but it makes sense." Calvin stretched.

Hobbes held back a smile. While Calvin's work ethic had undoubtedly improved, his tolerance for inane busywork, or arbitrary teaching methods, had declined further.

"I mean, look at this shit! Ten pages of just plain scratch work, all to satisfy an arbitrary personal requirement of busywork. Side by side with other assignments- English book report- if this same principle of microstep-by-microstep over-analysis was applied, I'd have to report on what kind of paper the author used, his ink preference, give a detailed explanation of the publishing process-"

"I **get** it, Calvin. It's mindless drudgery and she needs to be hung by her thumbs." Hobbes could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I'm not asking for her to suffer, be fired, or even be chewed out publicly for this- I just think if I'm expected to do three hours of homework a night- one and a half being dedicated to this- I should be able to expect a level of professionalism that goes above assigning me the academic equivalent of Chinese water-drip torture."

Hobbes decided it was time to turn Calvin's attentions away from his infamous rants of the ills of busywork homework. "So any more word on Moe and Joe?"

Calvin smiled the nasty little smirk that was his trademark 'Those who have wronged me paid dearly' smile, one of the few signs he was getting better. "In jail, awaiting trial, not my problem anymore."

There was a slight slumping of his smile, the slow turn into a contemplative frown. "That just leaves R.A.W."

"Any word?"

"No arrests. They're still deciphering the computer stuff and that Fox kid is helping them- personal vendetta and all. It has been suggested to me, by several men and women bearing FBI badges, that I refrain from doing the whole "raid a heavily armed compound" thing again."

Hobbes was loathe to say it but- "But if you hadn't done that-"

"They think it was Jason who did it." It wasn't a complaint, it was a statement of the facts. "As far as the records are concerned, I provided cover fire, moral support to the kids, and scrounged up supplies during that incident, and really I'd prefer to keep it that way."

Hobbes watched his human companion clench and unclench his right hand, an exercise done to relax his sore hand after math assignments.

"And Derkins?" he inquired.

"She's doing fine. The charity went off without a hitch. It's dying down now, and she's not milking it at all, so she's doing pretty good."

"I heard she gave you quite the exclusive."

Calvin shrugged. "She gave interview answers to a lot of people."

"But she saved the best for you…"

Calvin stayed silent as he realized the implications of what that might mean.

…

It was generally a teacher who wanted Calvin to stay after and not the other way around, but Calvin had reason this time to bother with the extra minutes.

Before him sat, with crossed armed, a stark black and white blouse, and short blonde hair, middle aged woman named Mrs. Kalen, who was, in the opinions of quite a few students, went beyond the stern teacher approach and into the belief that her classroom was some sort of private dictatorship.

He flopped the homework assignment that had taken him an hour and a half to complete on her desk- a 70, even with all the answers correct. She gave him a look that reflected the kind of reaction one might expect if Calvin had thrown steaming dog crap on her desk instead.

He shoved a hand into his pocket, clicking a tape recorder on. If it could serve him well against corrupt police…

"So, having followed your directions to the letter, having spelled out every digit change, addition, subtraction, and noting what formulas I used, after having a full ten pages, front and back, of showing my work, and still getting docked thirty points, I think I'm entitled to ask: what the heck do you want from me?" Calvin would ordinarily use more respect, but this woman was, for all appearances, trying to play the role of the impossible-to-please superior, and her condescending glare-down-her-nose manner wasn't helping his opinion of her one iota.

"It's the **tone** of the work I took off for." She replied, and gave no further comment, apparently satisfied with her answer.

"The tone?" Calvin asked, surprised.

"I can see where you pressed harder on some calculations than others with your pencil. I can see… hate, here-" and she jabbed at problem 7, as if there were some damning blot that only she could see- "-where you nearly poked through the paper. You resent learning and authority, Mr. Halgins. It is evident, it is deliberate, and I will not tolerate it. The grade stands."

Calvin was hoping he heard incorrectly. "You're docking points because you interpreted my sharpening a pencil or emphasizing a line or number as resentment? How on earth do you get off deciding any change in pencil strokes is resentment enough to dock points?"

"Your childish resentment of authority is evident in everything, Mr. Halgins, and until your attitude improves your grades won't."

Two and two clicked together.

"You're docking points because you don't agree with what I write?" Calvin's exasperation made his head hurt, a throbbing in the back of his skull as he tried to decipher her logic. "What the hell did I write to tick you off?"

"It's not a single piece, Calvin, it's the attitude as a whole- the defiance of authority you advocate. The 'just do enough to get by' work ethic you exhibit in your work."

"Defiance of authority- you mean the stuff I wrote on my private blog about Rod and Whip? Have you read any of the reports done on their facility? They freaking **killed children! **And as for the 'just do enough to get by', news flash- I have other subjects besides math. I got all the problems right before I tried your extended working out method, so logic dictates I am doing something right." Calvin rubbed his temples. It was like having to debate the color of the sky with someone who insisted on wearing orange-colored glasses. "I guess I'm asking how my personal, non-school related blog ties into my grade. Is there some ruling in the school rulebook that allows you to knock off points whenever you disagree with me?"

"I **am** the teacher here, Calvin." She snipped, again doing the looking down the nose glare. "I am allowed a measure of authority."

"So, you're willing to go with me to the principal and explain this penalizing me for my off-campus writings- non-threatening and unrelated to school- and you're sure he will take your side?"

Kalen smiled. "Absolutely."

…

Deetra Kalen walked beside Calvin Halgins into principal Spittle's office, the elder, wizened man regarding them both with a critical eye.

She knew from the moment Calvin had laid the paper on her desk with a look that betrayed his decreasing patience with her methods that it would ultimately come to this- seeking out a higher authority as an arbiter. She also knew that Calvin had recently gained the ear of the school with his antics at some boot camp, the evidence of which was solid enough to lend credit to his testimony.

Perhaps if he were more humble, more subdued like a proper child, she would find his actions more endearing. As it was, he was using the momentum that incident gave him to push a subtle agenda of advocating rebellion against authority, against methods that were necessary to enforce discipline.

The students were not alone in their critique and bucking of her methods of teaching, which focused on minute detail and explaining each step in showing one's work. Her docking of points for each skipped step- those not explicitly detailed on paper- had recently become a point of interest in the teacher's lounge. The responses had ranged from polite insinuations that her techniques were just going to exasperate her students, to out and out accusations she had a sadistic streak.

She was trying to make the lazy children of the day work, go the extra mile, and they were calling her sadistic. It was a word thrown around a lot nowadays.

That being said, if they wanted her to play the villain, she was happy to oblige. It was obvious that Spittle, strict and unflinching as he was, would never condone her methods of grade penalization to silence outside ideas. There would be no twists, no spins she could put on it to justify docking points for Calvin's blog that he would accept.

So she would go for a different approach.

"Is there a problem?" Spittle's voice was one of impatience, the sort of "do not waste my time" tone that reflected a heavy workload.

"Yes. I offered Calvin a minor point deduction as a lenient penalty for his recent cheating on homework by copying from another student's right before class, but he pitched a fit about how unfair the work was and how I had no right to punish him. I was hoping you could clear matters up." She put the homework she had graded a 70 on his desk.

Spittle glare shifted to Calvin. Kalen smiled, turned to look at Calvin, who was probably about to crap his-

Calvin looked back at her, slowly, a very tired, agitated look in his eyes. "Do you seriously want to do this? Making false accusations in front of your boss?"

Bluffing. Had to be. "I offered him a way out, a way to redeem himself." She found her voice after but a second, choosing to address Spittle, as if Calvin wasn't there. "But he went off on his usual rant about too much work and 'teacher tyranny'. I'm thinking zeroes on his homework assignments thus far and an essay on the value of studying would be in order, unless you think differently."

Spittle's gaze locked on Calvin. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Well," Calvin said, sighing, shaking his head. "I don't. Not personally… but a friend of mine does-"

And he pulled out a recorder.

For several, agonizing minutes, she listened in mute horror as her conversation with Calvin was played back in detail. Spittle's expression did not change as his gaze locked on the recorder for the duration of the playback.

She became aware of her jaw trembling as it ended.

"Calvin, thank you for your time. Go to class." Spittle spoke without a trace of emotion, save for the barest hint of irritation. Calvin shrugged, left without a word.

Only once they were alone did Spittle's look shift from the door to Kalen.

"You had better have a damn good explanation for this."

"I was trying to get him to stop being so cynical-"

"By taking off points for something he wrote outside of class. I'd like you to know I keep tabs on his blog, Ms. Kalen. Make sure he's not slandering or threatening the school or any of its employees. He hasn't. Not yet." He held up the tape. "But this… this violates so many ethics and so many policies it makes my head spin. He has a tape with you, threatening to keep on docking points until he stops…" Spittle held his head, confused. "What **was** it you were trying to get him to stop doing, anyway? Pressing too hard on his paper? Writing about a tragic event he was witness to?"

"He's advocating rebellion, sir. I can see it in his work, how he's pressing the pencil so hard it's like he wants to stab something."

"Did he get the correct answers? Did he show his work?"

"That's not the point, he's **resenting**-"

"No, that is the point. You asked him to do more work. He did it. Then, you tell him not liking the extra work is enough to dock points. If he had written something on here, like "this is shit, this is completely pointless", or been outright insulting, then yes, I could see docking some points as a disciplinary measure. As it is, you openly stated you're punishing him for two things- your interpretation of his workmanship, and his completely non-school related blog. Or, at least, **was **non school-related. If he writes about this- which he has a right to- I'm going to be asked some very uncomfortable questions."

Spittle took a breath, then looked her in the eyes. "You seem to take a great deal of leeway with your interpretations of people's actions, so let me tell you what your actions say. The work you demand- and I have heard complaints from students and teachers alike- goes beyond mere reinforcement and into the bizarre. Yes, students must show their work, but you have gone to an extreme- so much, in fact, that one begins to question whether you mean to educate or antagonize your students because you have decided to paint them all with the broad stripe of 'lazy'. That you continue to penalize Calvin for his interpreted tone- and his blog, which recently consisted of his reporting on a death camp for children and a student's charity work- speaks volumes about your willingness to abuse your authority to censor a student."

Spittle spoke again before Kalen had a chance to speak. "If you had even had the spine to be direct about your complaints, we could have worked something out. As it stands, you seemed to understand your argument didn't hold water, and instead tried to frame Calvin for cheating. That's the nail in your coffin, Ms. Kalen. Cowardly backstabbing. I want your belongings off the school campus by the end of the day."

…

Spittle absorbed, with practiced indifference, Kalen's shouted blasphemies, her insinuations of pedophilia as to his relationship with Calvin, the slamming of his office door, her shouted hopes for him to get cancer.

Pity failed to rise within him. Calvin had, for the longest time, even when he had transferred to this Junior High, been thought a lost cause, a brilliant but lazy child who lacked discipline enough to succeed. Now he had turned it around, in a morbid sort of metamorphosis via the threat of boot camp, which lead into the Grindstone incident. While he would have had no pity or remorse punishing Calvin were the accusations of cheating legitimate, Kalen's antics demonstrated poor judgement and exceptionally poor moral fiber. The idea was to reform the slackers, Spittle believed, not to alienate them entirely.

Still, while he was appreciative of Calvin's newfound work ethic, the changes he'd seen were not wholly assuring. There was a loss of something, the spark in the boy's eyes a little dimmer. No pranks or antics. He had heard that Calvin had tried, among others at the compound, to provide emergency medical relief to many of the injured children, but many had died nonetheless. God only knows the sort of psychological effect that would have on a still developing mind.

It struck Spittle that for someone who had been targeted for kidnapping, then instigated a rescue mission, and recently was recovering from being shot, Calvin, regardless of his less energetic, more somber composure, was handling himself well. Yes, there had been the teacher's report of Calvin giving a sobering lecture on what he felt on the first day of school- a non-too subtle rebuke of those who thought his actions were akin to some video game. But that was to be expected of Calvin, a brutal, unflinching opinion of a situation. And now this, a teacher openly trying to censor him for writing about the experience because of a bizarre interpretation of his works being anarchic in nature.

Spittle wasn't sure if there was a formula to drive a child insane, but he was relatively certain that Calvin's experiences were driving him closer and closer.

He turned to the task of finding a substitute teacher when another knock at the door got his attention.

"Enter." He said simply.

In through the door came a portly man- probably late 50s, graying hair and beard. He dressed well, a suit more appropriate to attending a formal event than speaking to a principal of a junior high. A spark of familiarity struck Spittle, that he had seen this man before.

"Do I know you?" Spittle asked when the man didn't say anything after a second, clearly expecting recognition.

The man's grin turned to a frown briefly. "I'm Brian Marrin." When Spittle failed to understand the supposed significance of that name, the man continued. "Judge Marrin?"

"Ah," Spittle recognized the man finally as the subject of much debate in recent years. Judge Marrin was, as he described himself on TV, a 'good ol' boy' from Texas, who had migrated to Ohio to get out of the heat. The man had gained a bit of notoriety in some of his rulings, which, if not cruel, were at the very least unusual. One recent case involved a boy who was accused of theft, sentenced to community service while wearing a sign that indicated him as a thief.

It was one day after the sentence that the store found security footage that proved him innocent, but Marrin had suppressed the evidence (some said using bribery and his influence) until the boy had served his sentence. When confronted about it by the boy and his parents, Marrin had, with an uncommon pretentiousness, said that "the boy needed exercise and humility anyway, so no harm done." This did not take into account the legal fees the family had to pay, apparently, and denied any sort of restitution. The fact the family was Hispanic also called into question whether Marrin was racist.

How he had avoided being kicked off the bench after that was attributed to the fact that the boy's family was too poor to afford further legal pursuits. More worrying however, were stories of an older event- rumors, really, vague and untrustworthy- that Marrin had, while in Texas, sentenced a father to die for a murder he did not commit. When evidence came out proving the man's innocence, Marrin allegedly went after the mother, who was convicted and sentenced to death, given the express lane to the electric chair. When evidence proved that the mother had nothing to do with the case, Marrin not stalled compensation to the surviving child, but went after him, reportedly using bribes to have the child arrested every other week. The motivation behind this bizarre campaign of legal abuse was, allegedly, that the family was black.

If not for the recent bizarre actions with the wrongly-accused boy, Spittle would have dismissed these rumors as just that. Even now they smacked of retaliatory mud-slinging. But still the man broadcasted a certain malaise that left him on guard.

"Ah, yes. I've heard of you." Spittle said simply, adopting a neutral tone. "May I ask what we owe this honor too?"

If Marrin had heard the subtle sarcasm, he showed no sign, instead swelling with a sort of pride that reminded Spittle of some sort of horrific chimera of peacock and pustule. "I had a favor to ask." There was an accent, Texan, that hinted at southern hospitality, but gave Spittle no ease.

"That would depend on the feasibility, of course, but let's hear it." Favors always put Spittle on guard, even that Derkins girl's smile had not been able to disarm the inherent alarum that a request for favors evoked in him.

"I have a friend who has heard about the recent event at this school-"

_FUCK!_

Did Calvin move **that** fast? He had just left a damn minute ago, there was no way the boy could have fired off a blog about-

"-the charity drive, run by, uh… Deekins?"

Spittle let the breath he had sucked in slowly ease out through his nose, so as to avoid showing that he was relaxing, or that he had reason to panic in the first place. "Oh, yes. It wasn't so much a school event you see- we had a good deal of volunteers from this school, but my role in it was limited to authorizing fliers to be handed out." He began to breathe normally again. "Anyway, your friend…?"

"A Mr. Highweller, fellow judge, old college friend of mine. He wants to speak at the school at your earliest convenience. A lecture on children's duty to their government and the law."

"Mr. Highweller… the same one who runs that reality court show where the judge breaks a gavel every other show?" Spittle raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how a charity drive and that sort of lecture are related."

"Oh, he hasn't given me the details, but the gist seems to be that the lecture will be about if more people asked what they can do for others than what they can do for themselves, then the world would be a better place."

There was a rapid, practiced jibe to how quickly that came out, as if rehearsed, false. Maybe it was a habit of Marrin's to rehearse these things in his head. "With all due respect, seeing as how records indicate every student that wasn't sick showed up, I daresay they get that already. Those who were sick had friends or family drop off donations."

Marrin fixed him with a critical eye. "**Every **student?"

Spittle adjusted himself in his chair. "Well, with the exception, of course, of a recently expelled student."

"Oh, yes. I heard about that. Moe and Joe Caldern. Arrested for attempted extortion and murder of a minor. A student that goes to this school, correct? The very same who wrote your school paper's article about the same charity event?"

"You've done your homework. Yes, Calvin Halgins."

"Well, back on topic, he feels that these students would benefit from him speaking, to help dissuade some of them from becoming more tragic cases of extreme self-entitlement. Like the Moe boy."

Spittle narrowed his eyes. "And he's choosing this school **because **of the recent charity drive? Preaching to the choir, much?"

"Well, with all due respect, Mr. Spittle, I know-" and he said the word with all the air of one beginning to state a scientific fact- "-that unless reinforced, children who do one or two good things start to get a sense of entitlement: that they have privileges above everyone else, that one good deed means they can be morally and ethically lax."

Spittle blinked. "So, you're saying that students who have done things that benefit the community are far more likely to become like Moe?"

"Well, not all at once, but without being reminded of their place…"

Spittle sighed, baffled at the lack of logic. "Sir, I have heard something strikingly similar to this argument before, from an agent of Rod and Whip who was put on standby to escort Calvin to a boot camp if his grades did not improve- you may know Rod and Whip as the 'Grindstone' camps under fire in the news nowadays. The man tried to abduct Calvin despite him meeting his parents' standards, and brought, among other things, a firearm to aid in the kidnapping. I'm sorry, Mr. Marrin, but the last thing these kids need at the moment is another person talking down to them."

Marrin's face froze into a cold glare. "I see. I'll be speaking with the superintendent, then." Without another word, Marrin flung open the door, letting it slam against the wall harshly.

A grown man, a judge, and he was still throwing temper tantrums.

Spittle wondered silently how many people actually earned their jobs via merit as opposed to clerical error nowadays.

…

Marrin made a quick call as he got into his car, still fuming over the denial. Where was the sense of respect being a judge once held? The man hadn't even bothered to stand up to greet him…

"Simon, we've got a problem-" he spoke when the line picked up.

"He refused." Simon's voice, old and impatient, too much like that man's Spittle's, held in it regardless the calculated acceptance of a minor annoyance. "No matter. Go ahead and speak with the superintendent, Jeremy Goffels. Remind him he owes Judge Highweller a favor."

Marrin snapped out of his mood long enough to comprehend this. "You have an Ohio superintendent that owes you a favor?"

Highweller gave a low chuckle. "I have plenty of people who owe me favors. You should know that."

There he was again, rubbing the facts in his face. It had been Highweller's connections that had saved Marrin twice. Now he was calling in the repayment in the form of setting up this lecture. It sounded so… bizarre. Why Highweller was so focused on this one school, had focused on some random child's charity drive was beyond him, but then again Highweller was a secretive old bastard who explicitly informed him not to ask questions.

"Right. The super. Who else?" he knew it couldn't be that easy, just asking for permission to do a lecture.

"There's only one other person I need you to speak to…"

…

Joe Caldern stared at the ceiling of his cell. The food was awful. The prisoners were murderous to the point he had several close calls already, a wound on his left side, recently dressed by the prison doc, testified to this. They hadn't found out that he was an ex-cop yet, but that would only last for so long- once they did, swift death would be a best case scenario.

The bastards couldn't even give him something to hang himself from.

"Caldern, you've got a visitor." A guard, the same that had stood by and snickered while Caldern had to strip for the showers, somehow managed to slip a sense of contempt and general revulsion into every syllable uttered at a prisoner. In other times, it would be something Joe would admire.

Led out of his cell down a gauntlet of jeers, the nagging reminder returned to Caldern that even with as much hostility as he'd been shown, no one knew he was an ex-cop, much less one that shot a kid. Solitary confinement looked better and better each and every day.

The man he was lead to see, behind bulletproof glass, his only audio connection being a telephone, was one he didn't recognize, at least immediately. It wasn't his attorney, the man looked too successful, too confident.

Joe picked up the receiver. "Do I know you?" He was, for one of the few occasions in his life, polite. Maybe there was something the man could do- even if it was just slip him a cyanide pill.

"No, I don't think we've ever met. I'm Brian Marrin. I work with the Newden city courts on these sort of matters: police and civilian conflicts. Heard you got yourself involved in a… misunderstanding." There was the silent wink-and-nod geniality.

Misunderstanding. Yeah, that was one way of looking at it. How was Caldern supposed to enforce the law if his badge didn't command respect from everyone? The Calvin punk was a bad seed, and he needed to be afraid whenever he saw a cop car. That, or buried in a ditch somewhere.

"You could say that." Joe conceded.

"Now, normally, you'd have the home-court advantage, but uh, certain sensitive documents- namely that boy's recording and your police car's camera are going to sink any "it was a weapon's misfire" argument you could make. However…" and the man gave a small smile. "If, by chance, some tampering was 'found' on the video, then the main evidence against you is suspect, and we have a little breathing room, even with the audio recording."

It would be a miracle, really, if a judge ruled that the video recording had been tampered with. "Yeah, that would help, but how would we convince her? She already hates me, denied me bail-"

"Him." Marrin corrected. "New judge is going to oversee your trial- from what I heard, there was some concern as if she would be fair and impartial."

Caldern looked up. "Really? Who's the new judge?"

Marrin smiled. "Me."

…

Susie Derkins had felt the fame die down as the prestige of being a part of a charity faded from the student body and the collective grind of their daily duties returned to them, but she hardly cared. Yes, being recognized for the deed while it was in progress was nice, but she didn't expect them to worship her.

Her homework lay before her, finished. During the charity event any and all free time had to be devoted to the planning and organization. Now, having by necessity learned efficient ways to finish the busywork she had, she found herself with free time.

She got on her laptop, decided to browse for a bit, starting with her email. It took, as she had expected, a while to load.

She hadn't expected this many responses.

People, a few across the globe, had praised her act as one of selflessness and generosity. Pastors had commended her on not only the nobility, but the efficiency with which the event was run. Known atheists had commented that she had focused hardly on preaching and more on the practical issues that plagued homeless and poverty, mentioning in their mail that they wished more acted like her.

The email finished loading, and she decided it wouldn't hurt to read some of the messages…

Then she noticed all the news ones had very different headings than the prior ones.

"You aren't fooling us, Derkins".

"Dear Whore of Babylon".

"You fake little tramp".

She clicked, out of morbid curiosity, on the "You aren't fooling us, Derkins" letter.

_You act like you're an obedient kid, and maybe you've fooled your city, but there are those who see past your lies. You are trying to preach a message of deceit, making the world believe that you and the other young thugs and sluts who helped you with your ruse are all flawless, law-abiding, harmless children. _

_But we know better. You have done this as a cover for a crime, or because you think it will absolve you of something you've done. Rest assured, Susie Derkins- God is not mocked. You will be judged for your lies._

For a moment, Susie stared, then clicked on the other messages. Many were none too well written, all caps writing with misspelled curse words calling her a whore and a liar, telling her how she would burn in hell for trying to cover up her crimes. Some called the charity drive an 'act of rebellion coated in sugar', or 'a subtle undermining of the holy authority that keeps you punks in check'. Some her virus scanner detected viruses on- those she deleted.

Letter after letter containing sheer vitriol, as opposed to all the praise. The addresses were scrambled letters, numbers and symbols- she was no hacker, but she knew those were throwaway email accounts.

Rather than feel threatened, or upset, the first thing that Susie felt was confusion. How in God's name would anyone possibly interpret her charity drive as a cover-up or an act of anarchy?

For a moment, she wondered if she should report this to her parents, or the police… then it hit her. Internet trolls. Lifeless losers, looking to sling crap around. Hoping she would act like a drama queen, go on TV crying, begging for them to stop. Desperate for a response, to siphon off some of the fame she didn't really want in the first place.

She summarily deleted all the emails, shrugging. Of course there would be some who, realizing they had done nothing that wasn't for their own benefit, would lambast her, and what better way to go about it than bizarre pseudo-Christian insane troll logic?

"Sorry, folks." she spoke as the offending emails were erased. "The show's over."

…

The announcement for all students and teachers to drop what they were doing and proceed to the auditorium was unexpected, to say the least. The obvious consternation in Spittle's voice did little to give Calvin any peace of mind as he made his way through the halls.

Bomb threats? Aftermath of the Ms. Kalen incident? Vandalism? There were plenty of rumors circulating by those who cared enough to make gossip.

As students found their seats, Calvin taking an isle seat, he noticed Spittle standing beside three people, looking absolutely pissed- his normal frown was a facial-crack grimace. Whatever was happening, it was not to the man's liking.

The other three Calvin recognized in short order.

Jeremy Goffels, the school superintendent. All talk, no action, but relatively harmless.

Brian Marrin, a judge noted for his recent injustice committed towards an innocent suspect in the name of teaching 'humility', looked pleased with himself. Calvin had heard the details- a boy was suspected of shoplifting, convicted, sentenced to public service-slash-humiliation. While evidence was found one day after conviction that proved his innocence, Judge Marrin suppressed the evidence until the sentence was served, saying that the exercise and lesson in humility was benefit enough to not warrant compensation. It was rumored that, to add insult to injury, he made the boy write an essay on what he learned about a work ethic and humility, and Calvin made a note to try and confirm whether or not that was true.

Theories as to why Marrin would do such a thing abounded, that he was on a power trip was the most common. Calvin had an additional theory, judging by how Marrin's past sentences and dealings with Non-Caucasians had gone-he was a racist bastard who enjoyed kicking around anyone who's skin wasn't pale enough.

Then there was Simon Highweller, also a judge, the best description for which would be a bald, glaring incarnation of mean-spiritedness. He dressed casually, as opposed to Marrin's fine clothing.

Highweller's sentences on juvenile offenders were harsh even when compared with Marrin's, but the worst attacks Highweller reserved for the few who dared to contend their charges. Verbally lambasting, making ad hominem attacks, and charging those who stood their ground with contempt of court, he went one step further by launching smear campaigns against those who got away- a girl who was charged wrongly with drug abuse, having proved her innocence with a drug test, filed a lawsuit over fliers that were soon distributed soon afterwards, describing her as a drug addict in need of rehabilitation, a violent offender, and openly discouraging businesses to hire her.

For these actions, Highweller was considered among even the so-called "hanging judges" to be ill-tempered and sadistic. While Calvin had learned to treat the rumor mill with suspicion, he had to concur with the popular theory that Highweller's seat was sustained with bribes. It did not help his public image that, immediately after news of the Grindstone camp abuses broke out, Highweller had been openly sympathetic with what he called "a well meaning business trying to coral out of control youth", blithely ignoring- or not caring about- the fact that said business had an official body count.

Taking into account the two men, Calvin would have felt less worried if Satan himself had walked into the room, offering cigars in exchange for souls.

Once everyone was settled into their seats, Spittle approached the podium on stage. "I apologize for the short notice, but we have a guest speaker with us today, Judge Highweller, who is visiting from out of state. He has a few words to say about remaining in good standing with the law, and community involvement, so please, give him your undivided attention." Spittle forced a smile, a loathsome visage betraying underlying contempt that made Calvin involuntarily recoil. He looked next to him- Susie Derkins, who for some reason had sat by him, shuddered.

Marrin spoke first. "Good afternoon, boys and girls." Thick Texas accent. "I'm Judge Marrin, with the Newden city court downtown. I know a lot of you have schoolwork and test to get back to, so I'll make my part of the speech brief."

"It recently came to the attention of my dear friend, Judge Highweller, that very recently, y'all banded together and ran a charity event for the homeless. It was only a one day deal, but it's a nice gesture, nonetheless."

Calvin's eyes narrowed. Who the hell did he think he was, coming in here, on short notice, and beginning to belittle an act of altruism.

"Now, understand, we like to see children do these sorts of things- gives us a bit of hope with all the juvenile offenders we have to deal with that there's still some good ones left-"

Spittle looked as if he would sell his soul for a gun. Whether he meant to use it on Marrin, or himself, however, Calvin couldn't be certain.

"-but nevertheless, we want to make certain you aren't getting the wrong ideas about acts of generosity, thinking that doing one good deed means you're going to get away with doing a bad one later."

A few students voiced their dissent with mutters, quickly silenced by teachers. Marrin gave them a glare Calvin once thought only a member of Rod and Whip could give, a look of hate and scorn so pure he was nigh-certain it would give the recipients cancer.

"…for example, were this a courtroom, those idiots who spoke out of turn would be found in contempt of court, and staying in prison as a little reminder as to who was in charge. As it is- you, in the white shirt- pray you never so much as see me for a traffic ticket."

That silenced the outbursts. Spittle had a look on his face that might have been apologetic, not for his students, but for the guest.

"…as I was saying, so, to give you all an idea of what will happen should you decide to stray from the straight and narrow, I'll turn the floor over to Judge Highweller."

Calvin was silent if only due to a loss of words. Were they really going to be lectured over what they **might** do wrong, because they had done something charitable?

It was once an Orwellian, surreal idea, that these people could look at an act of charity and see in it veiled defiance, but these beliefs were hardly new to Calvin- he had seen them in the methods of Rod and Whip, the belief that all youth were invariably evil (save for the occasional sadist incarnate they identified with) and thus must be punished. Had these two also been recruited?

No. From what he knew of them, Rod and Whip preferred subtler endeavors, singling out targets for capture. This sort of openness wouldn't be tactically sound, especially after the Grindstone incident getting such publicity…

Highweller surveyed the lot of them with a scowl, as if daring any of them to speak out. When, after thirty seconds of deafening silence no one did, he spoke.

"Marrin prefers to deliver his words with tact. It is a habit of his." The man spoke with a voice aged and poisoned with bitterness. "I however, have no use for beating around the bush, so I will get to the point. If any of you dare to interrupt me or leave before I am done, I assure you- you **will** be sorry."

He was outright threatening them, now. Spittle moved to intercede, but Goffels caught his shoulder, pulled him back.

Highweller glared into the audience of students, and his gaze came to rest on… Calvin? No. Susie. He was glaring daggers at Susie. Calvin turned, to see Susie's reaction- her face was serene, calm, but Calvin could see her fingers dig into her seat.

"You have not fooled us."

Susie gave the barest jerk, as if cut.

"I have lived long enough to know the difference between an genuine act of altruism and an cover up or social bribe. The city of Newden, Ohio, and many others, see your one-day donation to an insurmountable problem as some sort of biblical miracle, a manifestation of goodwill." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I, and a few others, however, see it for what it really is- a feeble attempt to sway the public, to get them to be lax when watching you, thinking you more prone to good than evil."

Calvin halfway expected Highweller to put on a tinfoil hat and start accusing them of stealing his thoughts. While not a psychologist, Highweller's lunatic theories spoke volumes about his paranoia.

"It is not by prejudice, but by years of experience that I have learned, if nothing else, one simple fact- chemically speaking, you children are incapable of altruistic acts. Even when you feign it, the focus is invariably how you will benefit. It is only in maturity brought on by obedience and age that one becomes capable of seeing past their own nose, and you lot, it is plain to see, lack both."

Calvin took mental notes, already envisioning the new article he was going to write. "Batshit insane crackpot uses big words to whine at junior high students."

"I know many of you likely just joined because it gave you an excuse to stop studying. To stop doing homework. To get out of chores. To be part of the crowd. That is another deadly flaw of children today- most are incapable of thinking for themselves, they revolve around one of the few that talks the loudest," and here he pointed directly at Calvin, "whether or not he is telling the truth."

For a moment, he and Calvin locked eyes. Calvin fought the impulse to flip him off.

"Or, in this case, the one who makes you all look good. The one who appears so selfless, you think that by rallying behind her, you become good by association. The one who preaches she's a good, devout, upstanding Christian when in truth-" his voice rose in volume as he jabbed his finger at her repeatedly she is nothing more than an anarchic con artist!"

Still Susie held her serene face, but she was breathing heavily, trying not to show fear.

"I am not fooled, Susie Derkins." Here Spittle was forcibly held back by Marrin and Goffels. "I'm not sure what it is- whether you're trying to win the favor of those around you so you can just do as you please later, and no one will dare accuse 'Miss Mother Teresa", or if you are doing it because you think it will make something you've done in the past go away, but I, and others who can see the truth, will not be deceived! Others may call you a saint, a model student, a hero, but I have a name for you, handed to me by the bible itself, and it is **the whore of Babylon!**"

There were gasps from the teachers and students alike. Spittle shrugged off Goffels and Marrin alike. "That is **enough. **You are all dismissed, go back to-"

"Spittle, stand down, or I will fire every teacher in here." Goffels' voice cut him off. "As for the rest of you, **stay in your seat, **or you will be expelled for insubordination."

Spittle stood, aghast at the blatant abuse of power. Calvin knew Spittle- if it were just his job on the line, he would have resigned and then decked Highweller, but he wouldn't put the rest of the school faculty at risk.

Highweller smiled, a cruel, vicious grin as he realized no one was coming to his target's rescue. "So, Whore of Babylon, aka Susie Derkins, what crimes are you hiding?"

Calvin shoved his hand into his pocket and aimed at Highweller with the Transmogrifier Gun, willing the stage to collapse, for something to fall on him, anything- but the unbelief was too strong, the change too drastic to force into the reality with this many people watching. He couldn't even create a power failure or fire, with this many people paying attention to the spectacle.

He swore, however, that he would ensure that whatever vehicle Highweller happened to take would burst into flames.

"WHAT CRIMES ARE YOU HIDING!" bellowed Highweller.

Tears formed in Susie's eyes, but she stood, hands and legs trembling, and stared straight at Highweller. "I'm hiding nothing." She spoke, her voice shaky, but loud enough to be heard by all.

"Are you aware of just how much trouble lying to a judge can get you in?" Highweller retorted.

"Yes. Yes I am." Responded Susie. "But I did that event because I've seen kids go hungry because they can't afford lunch. Because they couldn't afford the barest supplies for school. Because all some wanted for their birthdays or Christmas were clothes that didn't have holes in them."

"You honestly think that's going to convince me?" Highweller's tone was condescending.

"No." Susie shook her head, brushing away tears. "No, I don't. I don't know if anything I say or do will ever convince you I haven't done anything wrong, or that the most selfish thought I had during the whole event was that it would look good on my resume. But everything you've said today is all just opinions. If you want to hate me because you think I'm a liar, then go ahead. You keep on hating. I'll keep on helping people."

Highweller had clearly expected something else in response- threats, probably, something he could use to find fault with her. Now he stood, in silent rage, beaten…

…and then he smiled.

"You're every bit the silver tongued liar I'd heard you were. Were you anyone else, I might admire your ability to remain calm under fire. As it is…" he looked behind her, to a door leading outside. "Officer Caldern?"

In swift strides that defied his obesity, Caldern, emerging from the door, strode to where Calvin and Susie were. "Susie Derkins," he said, pulling her over out of her seat, "you're under arrest for marijuana possession with intent to sell."

Susie glared daggers at Highweller, who was now beaming with a sick sort of pride, as she was handcuffed. "Now," Caldern suddenly pulled her arms up painfully, making her cry out. "where did you get the drugs?" He was deliberately loud, so that the rest of the student body could hear.

"T-they aren't mi-"

And then Caldern dragged her over to the wall and threw her against it, reared his right hand back, and punched Susie square in the face, sending her sprawling to the floor.

Calvin stood as screams and gasps filled the auditorium, ran to do what he could to get this maniac off of her-

Something hard crashed across his face, and he stumbled. Another blow to his back- a metal club- and he went down.

"Not today, twinkie."

He scarcely saw the shoe before it swung up into his face, knocking him on his back. There was Moe, smiling the same smile that foretold of injury in his younger years. Before Calvin could react, Moe stomped on his chest, and brought his other hand up to Calvin's neck.

Calvin's muscles seized and his world became pain as two red hot prongs stabbed him in the neck, and blackness followed.

…

"_While the circumstances surrounding your arrest were, to many, controversial, controversy cannot be an obstacle to enforcing a zero tolerance policy for drug use __**and **__intent to distribute said drugs within our schools, nor can previous actions which the public has interpreted as charitable mitigate these circumstances."_

"_I am well aware of the evidence presented in your defense, Ms. Derkins. Your teachers speak highly of you. You have superior grades. Your own principal has sent me multiple copies of security cameras that allegedly show tampering with your locker by an unidentified person. I have been inundated with calls asking why I am putting you on trial for a crime you did not commit."_

"_But at the same time, I must listen to logic, as opposed to majority opinion. Teachers can be fooled. You can cheat your way to grades. Tapes can be tampered with, as I saw in Officer Caldern's case. The public can be fooled."_

"_Is there sufficient evidence to convict you of drug abuse, or intent to sell? No. The law demands that I be fair, even when I believe a suspect is lying. The tapes call into question your guilt, as do your grades. With no evidence to support this court's suspicions of cheating or your drug use, I must do as I have done with Caldern and others, when their guilt cannot be proven beyond reasonable doubt, and find you Not Guilty of that charge."_

"_However, your arresting officer, his son, and two judges testify that during your arrest you became so violent and uncontrolled that you injured one Calvin Halgins so badly he required an ambulance. I am aware an arrest is traumatic, but that does not excuse your actions, and it casts suspicions on your innocence."_

"_As it is, you, like so many others, need a lesson in respect for authority- even when respect is not mutual- and for your fellow students. To that end, I am sentencing you to one month community service. If at the end of your sentence you are contrite and repentant, then I will consider this matter resolved. If this rebellious streak of yours continues, however, further punishments may be in order. It is so ordered."_

-Docket # xxxxx287, Newden, Ohio v. Derkins, Judge Brian Marrin presiding.


	3. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter III: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

…

"_Despite me and nearly every single teacher and student at the lecture all agreeing that it was Moe who put me in the hospital, Judge Marrin casually shrugged and said that he had to go with the testimony of the one most trusted by the law- the very same man who shot me, Joe Caldern."_

"_When it became obvious that a drug charge wouldn't stick, because of the security cameras, they threw together the assault charge as a last ditch attempt to smear Susie with something."_

"_Judge Marrin ignored a doctor's testimony that Susie's bruises matched what he, in his professional opinion, would expect to see if someone of her stature were slugged by a full grown man, and identified bruises on her torso as being consistent with what he'd expect from someone of Moe's build punching her repeatedly while her arms were restrained. For that matter, he ignored another doctor testifying my injuries were from being struck with a nightstick and then being tasered. In short, besides deciding that the matter was not important enough to require trial by jury, which would have given Susie a fair shot, Marrin saw fit to ignore everyone's testimony and the witnessing of several other professionals, in favor of the testimony of a man with a history of complaints for abuse of power."_

"_This same judge openly threatened a student for speaking out of turn when he, during his lecture, began openly condescend us and accusing us of being potential criminals. It was after he spoke briefly that Judge Highweller began his tirade on how the charity drive was either a ruse to make people overlook future criminal actions, or to cover up/atone for a mistake Susie made in the past. Rather than cite any figures, give any evidence, or show any correlation between altruistic acts and future deviancy, Highweller decided to begin a baseless ad-hominem attack spree on Susie Derkins. When Susie stood her ground, he had Joe Caldern, right on cue, arrest her for marijuana possession."_

"_When Joe began punching Susie, I got up to try and stop him. That's when his son attacked me with a nightstick and a taser. I was unconscious, afterwards, but witnesses tell the story. Joe picked Susie up, still handcuffed, threatened people who tried to help her with his gun, and in full view of everyone, let Moe punch her in the face and stomach seven more times."_

"_I'm also told that during this, Jeremy Goffels, our superintendent, and Marrin, physically restrained Principal Spittle. And Highweller just stood there, smiling."_

"_One teacher, Martin Heighs, tried to get between Moe and Susie, stop him from punching her. Joe Caldern shot him in the leg, or so only a measly two hundred people claim. Marrin ruled it a weapons misfire. I guess Heighs' lucky he got off with that."_

"_Marrin still hasn't commented on the legality of having a civilian- namely Moe- repeatedly attack a restrained, non-violent person."_

"_Susie's been sentenced to one month community service for her alleged assault of me. Joe's been reinstated as an officer. Moe's back in school. Judge Highweller just posted on his website, "", a lengthy little rant about how Susie's 'lies were exposed for all to see by the valiant efforts of a wrongfully accused police officer'. And he's going to devote an entire episode of his- and I use the term loosely- court show, "Hang 'em Highweller", to explain how teens and kids are all inherently thugs who will kill at a moment's notice. And what of Jeremy Goffels, the one who forced this impromptu lecture turned kangaroo court on our school, threatened to fire teachers and expel students if they left before Highweller was done ranting, and prevented Spittle from stopping Moe Caldern from pummeling Susie?"_

"_After testifying in court that Susie attacked me, he's holed himself up. He doesn't even answer his phone anymore. When parents made it known that they weren't okay with a model student being falsely arrested and beaten in front of the student body, he claimed it was all Spittle's idea- an obvious lie, as anyone who was in attendance could tell- and became a hermit."_

"_Susie may not be the messiah. She may not be Mother Teresa, and for all I know, she may have very well done this charity thing for PR and to have something on her resume later on, an act, that, I should note, is perfectly legal, even advisable. But this is a crucifixion, plain and simple. One look at Highweller's site says it all: He doesn't just dislike children and teens, he __**hates them.**__ He talks about how children today are invariably violent, selfish, and are only kept in check by fear. He has his own little community set up, fellow child-haters who are praising his words as gospel. And he went after Susie because she inadvertently happened to cast some doubts on what he said."_

"_People are pooling money to help for Susie's defense fund and lawsuit against Caldern, Highweller, Marrin, and Goffels for what happened. Susie's having to do her sentence regardless. And no, there is no lawsuit for me regarding Moe smashing me around. You get three guesses as to why."_

(Omnijoural entry by CalvinOmega regarding Susie Derkin's arrest.)

…

For Moe, his actions were never really about profit.

Yes, the money he could extort was nice. Paid for stuff he couldn't steal. But money was rarely the goal.

It was making sure that everyone knew he could walk up to that one kid in a wheelchair, take his money, take whatever else he felt like, shove him down the nearest flight of stairs, flip off the teacher who went to help him up, and everyone would know there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.

As his dad taught him after mom left, and he made sure she was penniless and they got everything…

"Sometimes it's not about what you can gain. It's about what you can make someone else lose."

He knew it couldn't last forever. That eventually, someone in the right position would get a bad case of white knight syndrome and want to end his 'reign of terror', so to speak.

Even now, he still was amazed he not only got away with what he did to Calvin, but the judges had agreed that pinning the fault on Susie was a good idea. In the end, the drug charges couldn't stick- the cameras had seen to that.

Stupid. But a drug test would have cast enough doubt, so it was pointless to bitch about it. Susie got a month of community service, and dad had promised him he'd ensure it was hell for her.

Sadly, he couldn't work her to death. Already there was an uproar about what had happened. No amount of intimidation on his father's part or threat by Highweller could silence everyone who saw the incident. Even now students bigger than him gave him hateful glares.

However, with Goffels' explicit permission, Moe was allowed to carry a taser and a small handgun, deterrent enough to ward off any thoughts of revenge.

He noticed a girl bent over the water fountain, and Moe found this a hilarious opportunity to taser her, jabbing the device into her behind. She screamed, spat water as she spasmed, fell, hit her head. A few extra kicks confirmed what he already guessed- unconscious. The fall probably gave her a concussion.

It was petty of him. It was cruel, vicious, and could have long lasting repercussions for her beyond the realization she wasn't safe as long as he was here.

It was _wonderful._

All the teachers could do was pull her to the nurse's office. The poor nurse on hand would be working double-time by the time he was done.

The twinkie wasn't back, yet, still healing from his concussion. Ordinarily, it'd piss him off, but Moe found he appreciate the time away from Calvin.

It gave him time to think about what he would do to him.

…

Calvin had a hard time deciding which was worse.

Lying on his bed, concussed, and knowing the person responsible not only got off scott-free, but was now terrorizing the school with Goffel's permission was pretty up there.

Reading Highweller's gloating about how he had exposed a liar for a drug abuser and how this proved his 'point', which was that everyone under 21 was a consummate liar and should be kept under lock and key, hurt on a personal level.

But knowing Joe Caldern got away with shooting him and was now overseeing Susie's community service, that two judges, Marrin included, in attendance as Joe and Moe beat her, were willing to lie about what happened for the sheer sake of hitting her with whatever charge they could… that was the worst. Susie hadn't had time to recover from her injuries, yet Judge Marrin demanded she begin her sentence immediately.

Hobbes curled up beside him. The tiger had expressed his desire to skin Moe and Joe alive, not even doing them the decency of delivering a death blow, letting them bleed to death. But as time after time had proven, Hobbes was only animate when Calvin was around and no one else was. "How's your head?" he asked

Calvin gingerly touched the bandage on the left side of his head. There was still a bump, definitely sore. "I can think straight now, at least."

"So, Moe clubs you, tasers you, and then he and his dad beat Susie up in front of two judges and the student body for no reason whatsoever, and they still punished her?" Hobbes asked.

"The drug charges didn't stick. Caldern was caught on candid camera prying open her locker ." Joe Caldern had displayed a new level of incompetence, so drunk on the idea of getting to tear into a student he had forgotten to be discrete, but Judge Marrin, despite Calvin's own testimony that it was Moe who had attacked him, and the testimonies of hundreds of students and teachers, had still sentenced her for her 'assault'.

"You're awfully calm about all this." Hobbes probed cautiously.

Calvin was, oddly, feeling calm. He had kept his anger in check, kept from lashing out at those around him, but his calm was not a serene one. Ever since he had come too and had been able to think straight, he had seen the situation as a simple choice as to who would live and who would die.

Ordinarily, this was the sort of thinking Calvin had assigned to mad dictators and megalomaniacs. But Susie was currently the target of some sort of hare-bared smear campaign run by four grown men and one juvenile with a murderous disposition. What was at stake was not merely her dignity, but if what Highweller was willing to resort to and what the Calderns were willing to do was any indication, Susie wouldn't survive three days, let alone a month.

Even if somehow Susie was exonerated by a higher court, that still left the five antagonists. Moe would kill her at the slightest insinuation that he would get away with it. Joe just flat out liked hurting kids. Jeremy Goffels wouldn't raise a finger if someone came into the school with a gun if it meant risking a penny of his own money. Marrin was a pompous, holier-than-thou corrupt judge who had happily thrown aside all logic in order to preach whatever lie was best suited to punish Susie, and Highweller would have given every teen and child in attendance at his lecture the death penalty if he could.

All five needed to be crippled or dead. There was no other way to ensure Susie would survive.

If his secret- that of the transmogrifier pistol- were ever to be found out, it would no doubt mean he would be labeled a monster and a murderer, once this was all over.

But then of what consequence was that, really, in the long run?

Slowly he waddled over to his computer- his inbox had a respectable amount of emails expressing concern and dismay as to how the 'kid hero' had suffered yet again, but now there were new emails- hate mail.

He was used to it, honestly. Immediately after the incident, he'd received one or two poorly typed emails damning him as a 'terrist', claiming that Rod and Whip was just misunderstood- a sort of righteous rebel faction crusading against a world full of murderous toddlers and children who could only be made righteous by watching other kids die painfully.

Now there were more. Taunts. Threats.

"Not so big now r u liemaker?" read thus-

"You talk big but you go down like abitch and so does that whore you talk about. You coudnt save her from geting the shit beat out of her lyng ass. I bet you she gets raped when she gets sent to prison and soon you will too liemaker!"

Hastily written. Sloppy- and vicious- as hell. He wasn't certain who would write such a letter- a RAW agent taunting him, one of Highweller's adoring fans- there were plenty of people who thought his show and blog were on par to the gospel- or maybe just someone trying to get a rise out of him.

"Ur next!" gave long, anatomically impossible descriptions of what the writer wanted to do to Calvin and Susie. It might have been intimidating, were it not so outrageously outside the realms of physical and biological possibility.

Hobbes raised an eyebrow. "Disgusting. Where does this guy think he'll get enough pig manure, or a large enough hypodermic needle?"

"Maybe he could have them custom ordered." Calvin shrugged. "I'm sure somewhere on the internet, you could find all the things needed for this."

At first these emails had given him nothing but rage, but now, as he reviewed them, they made him wonder.

Aside from Marrin, Highweller, Goffels, and the Calderns, the rest of those in attendance were sympathetic, as far as he knew, to his and Susie's plight.

It could very well be some sicko from his school wanted to see what his reaction would be, to see if he had lost his nerve, but his instincts told him otherwise. Going with that line of thinking, it would make more sense if he would receive emails labeling him as a liar and dismissing the story about Caldern assaulting Susie.

He re-read the taunt- the person knew Susie had been attacked, but that he had been knocked out first. Word of mouth could have gotten those details out, and it could have been some sick asshole in his school trying to get him riled, just to see what he'd write.

But this many taunts, threats, and rants couldn't all be from his school.

He paused in thought. "What do you bet the odds are that someone like Highweller has a personal recording of the incident?"

"It's not entirely unlikely, but he is a judge- you really think he'd take the risk making something that would incriminate himself?"

"Normally? No." Calvin acknowledged, already searching online using Susie Derkins' name. "But he doesn't seem like the sort of person who'd pass up a chance to gloat. Especially to a crowd of his adoring fans."

Several hours of searching gave him little except a few notes on Susie's charity drive, but no incriminating videos or pictures, or even that she had been arrested. It was reasonable, then, that if Highweller had taken pictures or a video as a momento, he would make them inaccessible to a simple search engine…

There was, however, a more disturbing omission. Someone should have reported on a story about how the same girl who ran the charity drive so touted by Newden's newspaper was arrested, and even if not, at least his blog post should have shown…

A sort of sick feeling entered Calvin's gut as he clicked on the link for his own personal blog.

"**Due to a violation of terms of use, this omnijournal entry has been removed."  
**

…

"_You who have sought order in a world that seeks chaos, who have barricaded yourself against the lawless and perverse, the foul wombs that bear rotten fruit, for many, many years I have told you what you may have already known- that the world needs people like us to enforce order, to bend back into shape the warped and depraved body of the nations. That in order to root out the bad seeds of rebellion and dissent, we cannot allow the letter of the law to determine innocence."_

"_I will not lie to you- Susie Derkins never swung her fist, nor smoked an ounce of weed. Yet she has done so much more damage to our cause through her facades. One day. That's all it took for the media and the people they feed via the idiot boxes to look at the bad seeds doing one good deed, and decide, with what little brain power they have left, "Well, gee, I guess them kids ain't so bad after all.". And when, not if, they decide to turn to chaos, taking the rewards they believe they deserve, the apologists will point to their one good deed smokescreen- even as they hold people at gunpoint for video games."_

"_Now, I don't claim to be a mind reader. To be fair, let's say there's a 99% chance Derkins is a cunning little bitch who did her act for the aforementioned 'smokescreen', and, oh, a .5% percent chance she did it for her own personal PR to put on a resume, and another .5%- and that's generous to an extreme- that she did it because she really thinks one day will actually help."_

"_Even if her motives do fall into that one percent of lesser evil, the damage it does is the same. All one of her fellow students has to do is take advantage of the smokescreen she's set up. Just like with a robbery case, it doesn't matter if someone stole money for selfish reasons or because they needed to pay for a loved one's surgery, it's a crime all the same, regardless of motive."_

"_For our vision to come to fruition, there are sacrifices we must make. We have done so. But to ensure such acts, foolish or malicious, do not hinder us, sacrifices must be demanded of others."_

"_Susie Derkins must be ruined so that the world will see."_

-Private Speech given by Judge Highweller to the "High Ground" community

…

Her ribs ached. Having the school thug and a police officer kick you all the way down to the police station had that effect.

Her throat was parched, horribly so. Being made to work four long hours picking up trash on the side of the road, her water bottle emptied without her having a chance to drink a drop, courtesy of Joe Caldern, would do that to anyone.

Her mind reeled. Her 'trial' had been a sham. She had been denied the right to speak to her parents or a lawyer. Her interrogation consisted entirely of Joe and Moe working her arms and back over with nightclubs. When her parents had finally been allowed to see her, they had got her ribs taped and her lacerations sutured at the hospital. Moreover the doctors agreed to testify that her and Calvin's injuries were consistent with police weapons and people of Moe and Joe's build.

Marrin had dismissed their testimony, along with over two hundred other students testimony that it was Moe who attacked Calvin, and when Joe had (looking rather abashed) mentioned that they had forgotten to bring the marijuana as evidence, Marrin had none the less convicted her of assault and resisting arrest.

In short, while she tried to maintain a positive attitude about her life, Susie felt justified in feeling that this situation sucked.

She was stripped of her watch, but she knew from the sun's position it was far past time to quit.

She continued her work, shoveling more discarded cans into her bag. "It's seven-thirty, isn't it?"

Joe Caldern casually glanced at his watch. "Yep."

"Funny." She remarked. "I'm supposed to work until six."

"It's five thirty somewhere." Joe retorted. "Or maybe you'd like another interrogation…"

Susie continued in silence as Joe chuckled. "Didn't think so. Bet yer thirsty. I hear that's a… sign you're detoxing from all the marijuana." He chuckled some more, reveling in what to him must have been comedic genius.

"Hey, you know what else is funny?" Susie rasped, her throat parched. "A dead body on the side of the road, being dragged into a cop car."

Joe was silent.

"I mean…" Susie stopped, clutched her burning side, "the doctors said I should be in bed for a week. You didn't give me a day. My vision's getting blurrier and blurrier."

"Ain't my problem. Pick up the pace." Joe growled.

"Yeah, thing is-" she mused as she complied, or at least as best she could- "Marrin and Highweller are going to want to tell me, at the end, how grateful I should be for their wisdom, or punish me some more, or whatever. If I just go missing, there's going to be a lot of questions. Among them…"

She stopped picking up trash, turned to look at him. "…'did Joe Caldern kill Susie Derkins'?"

Joe merely smiled. "You saw what happened. If a room full of witnesses isn't gonna save you, what makes you think a dead body- make that a dead criminal's body- is going to make any damn difference to Marrin?"

Susie looked at him, despair sinking in. It had been a futile attempt, trying to get him worried about what a dead body would do to him- he had been willing to shoot Calvin over lunch money.

She resumed her task, biting her chapped, dry lips as not to cry.

"Oh, and I think we can stand to stay out here a good… oh, two more hours. Maybe more." She could hear the sadistic glee in Joe's voice.

Of course the man had nothing more enjoyable to do than watch her suffer- he was a sadist through and through.

It was around eleven when she finally made it home, dragging herself to the door.

"Same time tomorrow, honey?" Caldern jeered from his car.

As her father, face livid with rage, carried her inside, where her mother waited with water and painkillers, she finally broke down, sobbing, barely able to choke down a few mouthfuls of water.

If they wanted her to regret ever trying to do the right thing, they had succeeded.

…

Candace Maple had known Susie since the first grade.

Had slept over with her. Had played dolls with her. Had studied with her and talked about how much a jerk Calvin (or whomever had slighted them) was.

Susie had been there for her when she needed help studying. Been there for her when her mother died, and the depression and fear of the grave became nearly crippling. Had made the inevitability of death seem not so horrifying with a gentle promise she would see her mother again. She had been the one to talk Candace out of swallowing the bottle full of pills that would have made the reunion quicker.

And the only thing she had been able to do when Susie was humiliated and attack was just stand there, watching in horror, as braver souls attempted to come to her aid and were beaten or shot for their trouble.

…well, the only other thing.

She reviewed her cell phone camera. It had caught the last few moments of Susie's rebuttal, but it caught fully the unprovoked beating. She had flicked the phone up at the stage, on an impulse- it had faithfully captured Spittle struggling against Goffels and Marrin, but more importantly, it got a glimpse of Highweller, chuckling, before she had focused back on the assault just in time to record Heighs being shot in the process of trying to get between Susie and Moe, who was bashing her with a nightclub while his father held her arms behind her back.

But she hadn't sent it yet.

The message was made very clear- Highweller and Marrin weren't going to let anyone interfere with their campaign against Susie Derkins. If the evidence was usable in court, she would eventually have to claim it as hers. Then Caldern would be after her.

On the other hand, if she did nothing, Susie wouldn't last much longer, that much was clear. She had heard that they had wasted no time whatsoever in making her serve her sentence, refusing to allow her time to heal as the doctors had advised.

Finally, hands trembling, she picked up her phone, stood, and walked to her father's room. If nothing else, Susie deserved a sign she wasn't going to be abandoned for dead.

"Dad, I've got something that might be important…"

…

Spending the evening raging at Omnijournal representatives had proven fruitless. The closest Calvin had gotten to any hint of conspiracy was a vague "Nothing we can do" as opposed to recitations of rules he had supposedly broken.

Calvin had given up hope of reclaiming his old entries and omnijournal, moving onto making his own webpage. The video theory had proven fruitless; of course someone like Highweller wouldn't be so stupid as to post evidence that would incriminate them. He was lamblasting himself mentally for wasting time, when his email client dinged.

He opened the letter marked "Urgent: Regarding Susie", noting a distinct lack of gloating or spelling errors... and an attachment.

"Well," he mused, motioning Hobbes over, "I think I know what my first addition to my new site will be."

…

Highweller was just about to select a diversion to celebrate his victory over the "Whore of Babylon" when his phone rang- Marrin. Ordinarily, he'd ignore it, anything of importance could be left as a message, but if the fool left anything incriminating…

He picked up. "What is it?" He had little time for courtesies, after such planning he needed mental relaxation-

"We've got a problem. Someone shot a video of the lecture."

He sighed. He had expected this, albeit hoped that he would not have to deal with it. "Let me guess, the Halgins kid made a new site and has it up there?"

"That seems to be the source, but now it's everywhere. We're going to have riots in days, Highweller-"

There he went, panicking. Marrin was lazy when one got down to it, and the idea of having to deal with this mission beyond merely pronouncing Derkins guilty likely terrified him.

"Marrin, we dealt with the video evidence before. If worst comes to worst, the Calderns are expendable-"

"That's just it- the video doesn't just show them, it shows us!"

His stomach knotted itself painfully, stealing from him his usual cool-headedness. The Calderns were easily cut off if it came to that. He had foolishly failed to consider what would happen if he were caught on tape.

"Where is the video?" He asked after a painful five seconds of silence passed.

"Everywhere." Marrin's tone was that of a doomsayer prophet, and for once, Highweller could not blame him. Already, Marrin's sentencing was unconstitutional, grievously so, and it was by a slim- but then comfortable- margin he had been able to divert attentions from it. This would shatter that bubble-fragile barrier, bringing in investigations, his cases being reviewed… being put on trial.

He knew that Halgins brat would love nothing more than to gloat about how "The judge is now judged". Having his blog taken down was meant to be a final slap in the face, to show him how powerless he was, but it seemed to only spur him to retaliate.

Highweller shook his head, as if to shake off whatever demons of doubt and despair now clung to his mind. Despair and grief were what he inflicted, not suffered- it was time for action.

It would be a simple enough matter to coerce the name of who had shot the video, and after that it would only be an issue of forcing them to recant, to say they had filmed something in an effort to rally behind the whore and her smokescreen.

That still left a very critical issue, namely Calvin. The details were sketchy at best, given Highweller's tenuous trickle-down connection to Rod and Whip, but apparently Calvin was skilled in more than mere wordplay, strolling through the halls of a discipline facility, killing anyone who came near him or his accomplices, and having nothing but a bloody nose- inflicted before the massacre. With a body count almost into the triple digits, he had escaped unscathed, physically and legally.

The idea that the boy would hunt him down and attack him personally grew less and less absurd by the moment, but whether his choice of weapons was words or guns was irrelevant.

It was time to nip this problem in the bud.

…

Moe knew no one thought he was the brightest kid. Pricks, everywhere, judging him. Yet still he could figure out the unspoken when word got around that a video of him and dad 'subduing' Susie was uploaded.

Shit was going to hit the fan. Big time.

He was only surprised slightly when they were given their orders, straight from Marrin, his and dad's get out of jail free card: Calvin was to be dead by the end of the day. Discretion was highly advised.

Moe ignored the people who stumbled out of his way, the slurs, the putdowns, the curses hurled at his back. Tomorrow he could go right back to being king of the hill, and God help the sons of bitches who felt so high-and-mighty now. Today, he had to be all business.

Seeing his dad in the hallway didn't irritate him like he thought it would. Marrin was clear- this was a two man job. As much as Moe wanted to deal with Calvin personally and slowly, break him bit by bit…

He was fairly certain Calvin had some sort of deal with the devil.

It was the only thing that made sense, he thought, as he fell into stride with his dad. It made little sense that a boy targeted by kidnappers three times would get away unscathed. It made absolutely no sense that he would somehow find a way to sneak into one of the prisons, or whatever they were, but wading through armed guards, leaving over eighty dead, and not having so much as a nick on him? A gun explodes when aimed at his head, and then a car crashes into the cruiser when dad went to get his shotgun?

He had half a mind to stall the mission and go get a priest. Hell, a stake and garlic wouldn't be overkill.

They had prepared for this- silenced .40 pistols for both of them. "There's nothing like having a few holes punched through your chest to take the fight out of you." His father had explained.

The shots would still be loud, but not as loud.

Not that they planned to kill Calvin on campus- ideally, they would arrest him, haul him off to some deserted location, kill him, and leave the body with an extra pistol to make it look like a suicide. But now, as they put their plan into action, Moe saw several massive flaws.

The initial plan called for Calvin's extraction to be utterly silent and unseen. That was going to be impossible without evacuating the building. If Calvin was seen being taken out by the same two cops who had arrested Derkins, and went missing days later, any fool could piece together what happened, and knowing Calvin he'd probably predict his own demise, loudly and proudly, as they escorted him out of the school.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he saw the spike-haired bastard walk out of a classroom, holding a bathroom pass. The hallways were empty, save for him, his father, and their target, the boy who had singlehandedly made life a living hell for both of them after a year of getting away with whatever the hell they felt like.

Calvin simply looked at the two of them, shrugged, and headed into the men's room.

Joe gave a short laugh. "Out of sight, out of mind, and easier for the janitor to clean up if things go south. Couldn't ask for better, huh?"

At one time, Calvin being in a bathroom- or any other small, enclosed room- meant Moe could wail on him as long as he liked with little fear of reprisal. That was with the small, daydreaming, easily punted little yellow-haired bastard.

Now they had an entirely different sort of bastard to deal with.

Moe spoke up, finally. "He's not going to come quietly."

"That's why God made tasers." Joe grunted.

"And then what? We drag him through the halls?"

Joe stopped, sighed with exasperation. "Look. It'll be rough afterward. We may have to move. But we have two judges- with connections- on our side. We just have to do this and deal with what comes." He gave Moe a glare. "Unless you'd like to go back to juvie."

Moe considered briefly the menacing scowls of the guards at the juvenile hall, the swears and shouts of outrage when the other inmates found out that he was to be released before they had fun with the 'fresh meat'. That alone was reason enough to carry out the deed before him.

Besides, the twinkie was long overdue for his final humiliation.

"Remember- we **want **him alive, but we don't **need **him alive." His father explained as he cocked his gun.

The bathroom was small- two urinals, two stalls, and one sink. Calvin was not immediately visible, but with the first stall door ajar and the second closed, his whereabouts were painfully obvious.

"So what's it going to be, twinkie? Quick and easy? Or slow and painful?" Moe's confidence found its way back into his voice.

No answer.

"Sure you wanna die on the can? I mean, it suits you. It suits you perfectly. But if it were me I'd want something less humiliating…" Moe's eyes swept under the stall for any signs of a shadow or feet- none. The punk was standing on the toilet, crouched down.

He and Joe moved in front of the stall, training their weapons on where Calvin should be.

"Fine. Your funeral."

Joe kicked the door open, smashing the lock off it's hinge, and they both opened fire, the noise muffled but not eliminated by the silencers…

They had fired a total of seven rounds before they realized the stall was completely empty. It took the both of them five precious seconds to realize that, somehow, Calvin had vanished.

In his place, perched on the toilet, was a video camera aimed at the door. Only now did Moe notice the wire, painted to match the wall color, that ran from the camera up into the ceiling.

…..

"_As can be seen by both the video evidence of the locker tampering of Susie Derkins by someone who matches Joe Caldern's height and body mass, the cellphone video of Susie's arrest, and a second attempt on my life, again and again Officer Caldern displays a virulent contempt for lawful procedure, respect for basic civil rights, and human life in general. The obvious question is, of course, how in the hell someone like Caldern is still allowed to carry a badge and a gun."_

"_The answer is simple- Marrin and Highweller."_

"_The arrest and trial from the very beginning have been, as I explained on my now dead Omnijournal, shams. Any sensible judge would have seen the tapes regarding the tampering with Susie's locker, or, for that matter, her arrest, and would have laughed the non-existent case against her out of court. On that note, a sane judge would have allowed Susie basic certain rights- the right to counsel, the right to a trial by jury, the right to have medical attention before being interrogated, which I'm told consisted of being beaten by Caldern and his sociopathic son with nightsticks until they got bored."_

"_But Marrin disregarded these things- so essential to due process- in favor of having her arrested, interrogated, and tried all in the same day. I admit having little experience in a court of law, but for a judge to have his schedule clear to try a student the same day that she was arrested? This, true believers, reeks of conspiracy."_

"_Highweller, through Marrin, is waging a smear campaign against Derkins for having the audacity to act in a way that was contrary to the rapist/mugger/terrorist strawman teen he's so eager to preach about. Goffels has, for reasons we can only speculate on, thrown his lot in with Marrin and Highweller. Moe and Joe Caldern are, as those unfortunate enough to have dealt with them can attest, acting as expected."_

"_To Newden's court- Susie's case should have been thrown out the moment it was mentioned. To allow Marrin to continue to punish her, even for one month, spits in the face of the laws and social contracts we are taught to obey."_

"_To Newden's police department- I don't know exactly what the standard grounds for dismissal of an officer are. Nor can I logically blame the whole police department for one man's actions. But we are consistently seeing is a lack of action from the other officers. Moe Caldern has, in the span of several days, injured multiple students so badly that they needed hospitalization, and as can be seen in the third video, attempted to kill me on campus. If this isn't grounds for dismissal of Officer Caldern, then what is?"_

"_What we have here are four grown men who have all proven themselves grossly unfit to perform their respective duties, along with a bully given carte blanche to terrorize the student body as he sees fit, all terrorizing a girl who organized, at her own expense, a charity drive. If she did it solely for a resume buff, then who cares? Poor, downtrodden people were fed and clothed all the same."_

"_If these injustices are allowed to continue, then the lesson will be clear to us- not just the youth of Newden, but all across the U.S.- that no good deed goes unpunished."_

-Calvin's article in the Verdant Junior High newspaper

…..

Deetra Kalen had fallen on hard times.

Her profession had been teaching ever since she'd graduated college. Now, thanks to that idiot Spittle interpreting her methods of discipline as censorship, her career was totaled.

The teacher's salary barely afforded her a small apartment. In a matter of a month or so, she would be thrown out. Trying to find another job would be difficult to say the least- who would want her, a teacher fired for what to the uneducated masses looked like a sadistic streak?

If that punk had mentioned her on his blog, she would have been able to sue, maybe, at the very least make the boy pay in time and legal fees for her humiliation, but Calvin hadn't even mentioned her. It probably didn't even register to him- she was a minor diversion to him as he went along, unchecked, ruining the lives of well meaning disciplinarians.

And as for her, after years of faithful service? Her reward was sitting on her worn-down sofa, drinking third-rate beer, waiting for calls back on job applications she knew weren't going to come.

All because of Calvin.

The phone rang, shattering her pity and nearly making her drop her beer. Grabbing the receiver, she calmed herself, cleared her throat, and picked up. "Hello?"

"Ms. Kalen, I presume?" Male. Timid. Not like any of the people she'd interviewed with.

"…this is she." She responded, hopes deflated.

"This is Jeremy Goffels, super of Verdant Junior High."

Already the name of that place made her bitter.

"I heard about Spittle's terminating you. I apologize. That was grossly unfair of him."

Her hopes began to rise. "You… you think so too?"

"Oh yes. Calvin's tone is, as you have no doubt seen repeatedly, becoming less and less restrained and more vitriolic. He's gone from questioning you to mocking lawful judgments and harassing police officers who were just doing their job. The big problem as I see it, and I'm guessing you saw too, is that he's influencing the student body to rebel. Ergo, we're going to be implementing some severe changes to Verdant, and I need someone like you who is willing to… stretch the truth to help implement those changes."

Automatically, irrationally fearing that somehow Goffels could see her state of dishevelment, she began to brush her hair and wipe her eyes. "Of course, of course, just let me know what to do…"

…..

"I don't understand this."

Spittle stood before the school board like a defendant at trial, glaring at all five of the members- but reserving his signature 'death gaze' for Goffels, who avoided making eye contact. On the line was his job.

"What happened that day when Marrin and Highweller came to… **rant** at Verdant Junior High was nothing short of a senseless display of tyrannical power. Of course I **tried-**" and here he caught Goffels' gaze for a moment, who, under Spittle's withering glare, turned away. "-to intervene."

"As for the sanctions you have proposed for Mr. Halgins, what he wrote was an article expressing an opinion backed up by facts. That Susie Derkins' trial and punishment violated her constitutional rights every which way. That Moe Caldern's special privileges are continually sending students to the hospital."

"Regardless," interrupted Goffels, "the fact remains you allowed the installation of a camera in a student bathroom stall-"

"Which was done not an hour before it was used to record a murder attempt. The stall was locked beforehand, the camera was off, you can see the entirety of the footage on the news." Spittle sipped a glass of water. "Nevertheless, I can understand my termination. But these sanctions against a boy who has exercised his constitutional right to express an opinion-"

"We have determined that Calvin Halgins' continued writing for the school newspaper is a severe enough security risk to terminate said privileges." Goffels interrupted again. "He is openly inciting the student body to rebel violently-"

"Where?" Spittle demanded.

Goffels paused, put on guard by the question, then shrugged. "Which parts are exactly threatening is an issue for later debate. I should mention again- his position on the school newspaper was a privilege, not a right."

Spittle's only satisfaction was that Goffels again could not bear his gaze. "That aside," Spittle continued, "the other measures you have described to enact are madness. They violate so many rights and laws that-"

"Mr. Spittle, as was hopefully made clear to you, this meeting was not about debating the actions **I** will put in place, rather it was to inform you of them, and the termination of your employment."

Spittle opened his mouth to protest this lunacy, this debacle of justice, but Goffels spoke again. "That is all. This meeting is adjourned."

…..

Calvin felt it would be a good day, as he departed the bus to head into school.

The calls from several newspapers, the pandemonium the videos had caused on the internet, reports of Marrin not returning calls, and Highweller's website undergoing a DDoS attack brought a smile to his face.

The looks on Moe and Joe's faces when he'd seen the tape were to be expected- dull confusion slowly replaced by priceless "oh crap" expressions, with Joe futilely shooting the camera afterward.

It wouldn't be long now before the appeal Susie's parents had been trying to make during this whole debacle got through, if only by virtue of the city population kicking down the courthouse doors, demanding an explanation.

Almost as soon as he had reached his homeroom, the announcement was made for all students to proceed to the auditorium. A palpable dread washed over the student body, as the memories of the last assembly still lingered.

As he found his seat, he noticed Spittle was nowhere to be seen. Odd, that a year ago, that would have helped ease the nervousness he felt…

But now, his absence was distinctly foreboding.

Goffels approached the podium on stage.

"We have very little time to waste on words, so I'll get straight to the point. In the past few weeks, there have been severe abuses of privileges by certain students, and your former principal aided and abetted in those abuses. I assure you, starting today, that all changes."

Calvin noticed Goffels was reading from small cards. Someone had written his speech for him.

"The school newspaper has gone from an exercise in teaching journalism to becoming a pulpit for some of the most nonsensical, anarchic jabbering the world has seen. It has ceased to become a means for reporting on current events and has become a mouthpiece for a con-artist in the making, Calvin Halgins, in which he deliberately and consistently undermines the efforts of well-meaning individuals-"

"Oh, **FUCK YOU!**"

Everyone who wasn't already looking at Calvin turned to look at his outburst.

"Seriously? 'Well-meaning individuals'? If you're talking about Rod and Whip, they have a freaking body count! They killed **three-year olds!** If you're talking about Marrin and Highweller, they came in here-"

"You will sit down and be quiet-" ordered Goffels. Calvin paid him no heed.

"Bitched us out over an insane conspiracy theory, then **you **restrained Spittle so he couldn't stop a psychotic manchild of an officer and his sadistic son from beating a girl half to death for organizing a charity event!"

"They did not beat her for the charity event, they did that because she had drugs-"

"Pardon?"

A silence fell over the auditorium.

"She was beaten because she had drugs? I could have sworn you claimed, in court, that they only started attacking when she allegedly hit me."

Goffels paper-thin courage was shredded, and he fought to find words.

"So either they beat a girl for suspicion of drug use- called into question by footage of someone Joe Caldern's height and weight messing with Susie's locker- which reeks of sorts of kinds of police brutality, or, as she was being handcuffed, she managed to give me a concussion and an electrical burn very much like a taser."

"Or, we take a third option, listen to the testimony of kids and teachers who were only a few feet away from it all, and conclude you're a lying sack of shit."

Goffels stammered, incapable of forming words. It took Calvin a moment to get over the fact he had reduced a grown adult to a mumbling mess, then he continued.

"We had testimony- and video evidence- that you and Marrin restrained Principal Spittle during the attack on Susie Derkins. Moreover, recall if you will that you threatened to expel any student or fire any teacher that left before Highweller finished his rantings, which calls into question your **repeated** insistence during press inquiry that the lecture was Spittle's idea."

"Taking into account Marrin and Highweller were able to get authorization to do a lecture here on such short notice after the charity drive, that Officer Caldern was waiting nearby to arrest Susie **and **was seen on school security camera tampering with her locker, that you threatened severe disciplinary action against anyone who left before Highweller finished talking, and, finally, the said restraining of Spittle during the assault on Susie, it stands to reason that you decided that it was fine to disrupt the school to have two people of questionable motives come and preach their own political agenda of age-discrimination at us."

"As for my 'nonsensical jabberings', I have put forth two ideals- that torturing kids to death in the name of discipline is wrong, and that the continued campaign against Susie Derkins reeks of corruption. So tell me, Mr. Goffels, who is abusing what privileges?"

Goffels stood abashed as applause from students and teachers alike flooded the auditorium, shaking in silent rage. It was only after the applause died down that he spoke.

"As of this moment you are hereby denied any and all access to the school newspaper-"

"Big surprise there, folks." Calvin commented, drawing a few laughs.

"- you will surrender all passwords and information to your blogs, websites, and any other methods of publication you have at your disposal, and you will write an apology and retraction of all your postings- including but not limited to discussion of the Rod and Whip-slash-Grindstone camps and the trial of Susie Derkins."

"Uh, hate to break it to you, Goffy, but short of me making threats, you have no say in what I write outside the school."

"You **WILL** surrender your passwords and write a public apology for your actions or you will be expelled!" Goffels roared.

Whispers from teachers and students alike filled the auditorium at this ultimatum.

Calvin considered his position for a few moments before he spoke again.

"Then consider me expelled. See you in court."

He rose from his seat, and, feeling a sort of liberty, proudly raised his right middle finger to Goffels for all to see.

As cheers rose from his fellow students, Calvin strode, hope renewed, to the doors of the auditorium. His parents wouldn't take it well, but once the situation was explained he had little doubt they would side with him. After having his life threatened, being expelled held very little weight…

He mused on his course of action as he prepared to call home to tell his Mom the news, when he noticed someone standing in his way.

Deetra Kalen.

"Weren't you fired?" he asked casually, taking joy in how her scowl deepened at that jab.

"I got hired back on." She stated simply. "As chief disciplinary officer."

"Whoop de doo for you." Calvin muttered as he took out his cell phone.

"Drop the cell phone. You're coming with me." Kalen ordered.

"In case you didn't hear, I was just expelled. So, no." He shouldered his way past her as the line picked up on the other end. "Hi mom."

"Calvin, what's wrong? Why aren't you in class?" His mother sounded worried. Not that he could blame her, calls home from him often were portents of disaster…

"I need you to come pick me up, some serious-"

His mouth was suddenly covered by some sort of cloth, and he smelled something sweet…

He heard his mother shouting as he fell, then nothing at all.


	4. Justice

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter IV: Justice

…

"_There is very little more infuriating to a child or teen than a double standard. I'm not talking about rational double standards, as to why adults may drink and children may not, or why children must attend school and adults don't have to. Rather, I mean double standards when it comes to forgiveness and morality."_

"_My every word was always accused of being a lie, and my parents punished me for each lie they perceived with belts, slappings, denying food. Sometimes finding out I told the truth made them stop, but sometimes it just made them hit harder to 'paddle out the demons of resentment'. Yet whenever they would blatantly lie about me and I had the courage to confront them, they claimed it was necessary to further the goals of the kingdom of God, and someday I would understand why I and other children had to suffer temporarily. It always struck me as funny in a sick way- honesty was so imperative for us children, we had to be punished if so much as the suspicion of lying was cast on us, yet it was considered a fine art for my father and mother. "_

"_Temporarily is a funny word, by the way. My left ear has been hit so many times with hands and paddles and whatever else was handy, I've lost some hearing in it. My ribs still ache. My arm isn't as strong or as flexible as it should be because my father broke it with a baseball bat and didn't let me go to a hospital for treatment. Of the fifty children my father had taken to the Rod and Whip compound, 44 died. And yet my father led his congregation to trust such an organization because he couldn't bear to have to retract any of his lies."_

"_I may still be young, but if I can be certain of anything, it is this- neither the "Kingdom of God" nor any healthy relationship can be built on a foundation of such double standards for morality."_

"_Parents who demand honesty and provide honesty raise honest children. Parents who demand honest and provide lies raise bitter children. This is not difficult."_

-Journals of Faith X, "A Flimsy Foundation"

…

Something smashed across Calvin's face, leaving the left side stinging and his eyes watering.

He opened his eyes just in time to feel another slap backhand him, nearly knocking him out of his seat…

Except he appeared to be securely fastened to it.

Looking up, he saw who had struck him- Deetra Kalen.

His memory returned- she had clamped a cloth over his face as he was making a call, and he'd been out like a light.

Another slap brought him out of trying to recollect his thoughts.

"Not so tough now, are you?" jeered Kalen.

This time she balled her fist and whipped him across the face, making him cough and tilt to one side from the blow.

"Are you?" She shouted.

"Kalen, be quiet. We don't want any more attention than we absolutely have to deal with."

Calvin looked up, tasting the copper tang of blood in his mouth. "Goffels." He spat.

He took stock of his surroundings- one of the less used classrooms, likely on the second floor. The door's window was blocked off with black matte paper, Goffels pulled up an edge, peeking out.

Goffels turned, satisfied with their security. "You should have cooperated, Calvin. You wouldn't be in this situation if you had just followed orders."

"You expelled me, remember?" Calvin coughed, blood and spittle flying out.

"That doesn't excuse you from following school rules." Goffels growled.

"Don't those same school rules prohibit you from holding me hostage and beating me senseless-"

Deetra punched him hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over as much as the tape binding him to the chair would allow…

Duct tape. They had duct taped him to the chair, put him against the same wall as the door, out of immediate view.

"When this is all over, as far as the law and the press will be concerned, your injuries will be the result of your attempting to assault Ms. Kalen here with such violence she had no choice but to physically restrain you." Goffels spoke with a confident air, clearly feeling that all was going to plan… whatever his plan was.

Kalen smiled, a sadist's grin, grabbing a handful of Calvin's hair. "How much I have to 'restrain' you… that's the question." She threw him back, his head banging against the wall painfully.

"I said keep it down!" Goffels hissed.

Pain radiated through Calvin's head, and he struggled to stay awake- the chloroform's effects had not yet worn off entirely.

"So, all this trouble just to keep anyone from giving Susie's side of the story? Is that what this is all about?"

Goffels remained silent.

"Why her? Why help them go after her? If anything, she made this school look good! One girl getting nearly everyone to pitch in on a charity event? Do you know how phenomenal that is? And you still handed her over to Marrin and Highweller to be crucified."

Calvin continued as Goffels turned to him. "You had to of seen the security tapes. You were there at the lecture. You know she's innocent on both counts. So why are you helping them ruin her life?"

Goffels leaned down, his once cowardly face now revealing dead, cold green eyes, hollow holes in a skull. "None of your business."

Goffels straightened up. "Your mother called. Rather hysterical. I'm going to have to go calm her down. In the meantime, consider this- Susie Derkins is a lost cause. Right, wrong, you can't save her from what's going to happen. Is it worth going down with her?" He walked to the door. "Think about it. And I suggest you think quickly, because indecision can be painful. Or so I'm told."

He had barely walked out the door before Kalen gleefully kicked Calvin in his chest.

…

"Where is he?" demanded Betty Halgins. Calvin's abrupt end to his phone call had put her on edge.

Goffels shrank back. "Calvin left the school of his own accord, Mrs. Halgins. We tried to stop him, but we can't just restrain-"

"I know you're involved in this whole mess," snarled Betty, fear and anger boiling to the surface. "I watched the tapes- I saw you holding back the principal while those two… _monsters _beat that poor girl half to death…"

"Ma'am, those tapes were altered to incriminate-"

"You have five fucking seconds to tell me where he is before I go call the police, the FBI, the fucking CIA and National Guard to tear this place apart!" she knew those were empty threats, particularly given the recent behavior of one certain officer, but she wanted to make sure this rodent in a suit knew she meant business…

"Ma'am, every moment you waste here is another moment Calvin is getting further and further away. By now, given his behavior in the past, he could be on a bus somewhere… have you, by the way, looked into juvenile facilities for him?" There was a mocking sneer in the voice, and she wanted, **needed** to take him by the tie, choke him to death…

…a sneer. The man had no poker face.

He knew something was up. Wanted her to go away from here.

"When I come back, I'm bringing a lawyer and cops." She threatened.

"Good. Be sure to mention your son's history of running off campus while in elementary." Goffels replied, reclining with a smile.

As soon as she was out of his office, the same office Spittle once occupied, she broke into a run.

They would be keeping him somewhere out of sight, until they could move him, if they were kidnappers…

She jogged down the halls, looking in the classrooms through the window slots.

He had to be here.

Her search became more and more frantic. If she was wrong, Calvin could be miles away by now, and given the last few days, not of his free will. If he was still even alive…

Forcing the worst case scenario from her mind, she ran upstairs, when she heard banging noises…

…

Already Calvin's left eye was beginning to feel swollen. Kalen had wasted no time in attacking him in full force after Goffels had left.

"You just couldn't take it, could you?" She slammed her fist full force into his jaw, knocking him and the chair over.

"Couldn't take me having the slightest bit of authority, having a say in whether shits like you pass or don't, succeed or fail, **live or die!**" She reared back and kicked him hard in the groin, and he screamed.

Pain and nausea gripped him, and he fought the urge to vomit.

She pulled him up by the hair again, and slammed his head against the wall.

"Well, now, I get to decide whether you walk out of here alive. Me. Just me. Just me." She walked over to her desk, pulling out a pair of scissors.

"Of course, the word was 'alive'. I think you could stand to lose a few inches off your fingers, help you remember not to write things about people who're bigger than you." She smiled, her eye twitching.

The woman had completely and utterly fucking lost it. He felt the bulge in his pocket that was the transmogrifier gun. But the way his arms were tied, reaching it was impossible…

She had cut off a piece of duct tape and put it over his mouth when there was a banging at the door.

"Hello? Is someone in there?"

His mother.

Crushing any facial expression, he waited until Kalen walked over to the door, obviously unsure how to handle such an interruption. He licked at his lips, loosening the hastily applied duct tape...

"Sorry ma'am, we're remodeling…" Kalen's voice was unsure, shaky.

"Have you seen a boy around here? Blonde, spiky hair?"

He worked off one corner…

"No, ma'am. No one but me's been over here…" her voice grew in anxiety.

It was going too slow, and he decided to get her attention the only way he could, rocking back and banging the chair against the wall.

Kalen looked horrified as she glared at Calvin. Another corner of the tape gave.

"What was that?" his mother demanded from the other side of the door.

"Just some… hammering. I'm sorry, ma'am, we need to get back to work-"

"MOM!" Calvin yelled, as soon as he got the tape free. "Call the police, she's gone fucking crazy!"

Kalen swore vehemently, and ran back over to Calvin, kicking him over, slamming the chair to the ground.

In a split second, Calvin realized the tape was beginning to give.

"If you come in here, I'll kill him!" Kalen howled at the top of her lungs.

…

Almost immediately, Kalen realized her mistake.

She opened the door, scissors raised to strike, but the woman wasn't there.

Instead, she had gone to get teachers, drawn by her shouted threat, now running towards her at full speed. She slammed the door shut, barricading it with a chair.

She turned back to her prisoner- it was time for a change of plans. She had been told Calvin needed to stay alive, but that was no longer an option.

More so now since, she realized with horror, Calvin had broken free.

Positioning himself behind several desks, he held a sharpened pencil like a knife, bleeding from his mouth where she'd struck him repeatedly. Her attempts to break his will had failed- all that showed in Calvin's gaze was scorn.

The door shook with loud bangs. They were trying to break it down, shouts from teachers and the boy's mother audible over the repeated rammings.

"It's over, Kalen." Calvin said quietly.

"No, no it's not." Kalen advanced. At the very least, she would shut him up for good…

"You're already going to face charges of assault and kidnapping. Murdering me will get you the chair. Give. Up." More banging. Goffels and several teachers arguing.

He was lying. Just as he had lied about her to Spittle and gotten her fired. Just as he had lied about Susie. He was always lying and his lies were contaminating the world. He would lie to the students, to the teachers, to anyone who would listen, they would lie to themselves and others, and the disease would spread…

That was it, she realized with a Zen clarity. Calvin was a virus, a disease. Spreading lies like a plague. If she killed him, everything would be fine. They would see he had to die.

…

"You're poison," she hissed, trying to flank him, cursing as he darted between desks, making her stumble. "You're poison to everyone, lying to everyone, hurting everyone! That's all you do! Lie and hurt! Lie and hurt! Like you lied about me!"

Calvin paused for a split second to look at her as he backed away, Kalen repositioning herself between him and the barricaded door. "You were the one who tried to lie about me! Have you gone completely out of your mind?"

It was a stupid question, he realized, as she snarled, sloppily hurling a desk at him, forcing him to duck. "Should have killed you when I had the chance…"

His ribs hurt, his stitches had almost certainly burst, his nuts ached from where she'd kicked him, and his left eye was swelling. It was not the time to be subtle or particularly sporting.

He didn't know exactly how the gun worked when the only other person around to 'object' was someone who fit the definition of psychotic, but now was the time to find out.

Calvin had no sooner squeezed the trigger with the mental command "kill the lights" than every overhead bulb in the room simultaneously went dim. Rather than bolt for the door, he grabbed one of the desks, and tipped it over into front of him, moving to the side. If her speech and facial expression were any indicators about her mental state, Kalen was hardly thinking clearly enough to adjust for such sudden changes.

He sprinted for the crack of light that was the door, hearing a yelp of surprise as the ruse worked, Kalen crashing down hard. Just to make sure, he groped, fumbling for another desk, his body aching from his injuries, flung that behind him, and set to work removing the impromptu barricade from the door. There was a curse- his second attempt didn't work to slow her down…

The chair removed, the door finally gave way to reveal Kalen poised to strike as several teachers grabbed her, and she fell, screaming a mantra born of rage and frustration.

"He has to die! He has to die!"

…

CENSORSHIP AND KIDNAPPING AT JUNIOR HIGH

Deetra Kalen, teacher of mathematics at Verdant Junior High, was arrested Wednesday regarding what witnesses claim was an attempt to silence local hero and student Calvin Halgins, who having recently started eighth grade, has of late spoken out repeatedly against what he claims are a series of miscarriages of justice regarding the controversial case against Susie Derkins, another student who was recently convicted of resisting arrest over a marijuana possession charge.

Calvin's mother described her son's injuries at the hands of Deetra Kalen as "savage and unconscionable". Witnesses confirmed that Calvin appeared to have been struck repeatedly in the face and stomach while restrained, and that Kalen threatened to kill Calvin during the incident.

Calvin was quoted as saying "This is only one of several attempts to silence the truth about Susie Derkins unconstitutional arrest, trial, and conviction. We have evidence and witnesses coming out the a—who will confirm she not only didn't resist, she was assaulted, she was framed, and anyone who attempted to come to her aid was assaulted as well, just ask Heighs."

Robert Spittle, recently dismissed from his job as principal Verdant Junior High, had this to say.

"Even after I was fired for allowing a student to ask questions in the school newspaper- reasonable questions, as to why due process was not followed in Derkins' case, I still get a full answering machine of questions from students and parents alike as to what is going on at my former school, where as of late it has become acceptable to frame and arrest students who make sacrifices for the community and kidnap those who dare to speak out against such crimes. My answer has been, and is thusly: **I don't know.** This is not the way things are supposed to be run. Calvin should have never had to speak out about such injustices because they should have never occurred in the first place. Day after day, we find more evidence and testimony that vindicates Susie's pleas of innocence. We have, to date, one voice recording of Officer Caldern and his son attempting to extort money from Calvin, one cell phone video of him brutally assaulting Derkins, Halgins, and shooting Heighs, and most recently, recorded footage of an attempt on Halgins' life."

"Students should be studying and preparing to enter the real world. They should not be concerned with having to fend off mad accusations from child-hating judges or evading assassination attempts. My only request is to the Newden municipal courts- Explain, to us- the teachers, the parents, and the students- what we are seeing when we watch these videos."

Marrin and Highweller, both present at the lecture Susie Derkins was arrested at, could not be reached for comment.

While it is still unclear whether or not charges will be filed against Jeremy Goffels, Superintendant and standing in Principal for Verdant, Goffels was quoted as saying "I had nothing to do with it. It was all Kalen and Spittle's idea."

Kalen is currently in police custody, and awaiting psychiatric evaluation to determine if she is fit to stand trial.

-Headline in the "Newden Times" newspaper.

…

Marrin had half a mind to take a gun and kill everyone involved in this debacle. Himself included.

Goffels had publicly expelled Calvin, then hired a psychopath to deal with him, and her recklessness was going to cost him dearly.

The Calderns had acted with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Now the internet was watching a video of an idiot police officer and his equally stupid son kicking down a bathroom door and firing several times before bothering to notice the video camera, then shooting it after staring dumbly for thirty seconds, complete with threatening remarks.

Calvin, the wrench in the gears, had not been silenced or cowed. If anything, this latest attempt on his life had spurred him to get even louder about the incidents surrounding Derkins arrest, and people in high places were beginning to listen, as he'd found out when he'd been informed Derkins was getting a new trial, and he could be facing possible corruption charges.

He was in his home office, the one refuge he had left against the deluge of reporters and parents all demanding explanations for what was going on. Why everyone was rushing to the defense of some teeny-bopper who needed a lesson in humility was beyond him…

His phone rang, and knowing who it was before he even picked up the receiver, his first words were what he had been thinking all day-

"Things are going to shit, Highweller." Marrin stated.

A few moments of silence. "I know."

Highweller's admission that things were not going as planned both vindicated and worried him. The very idea of conceding any victory to an enemy- a child enemy, of all things- no doubt nauseated the man to his very core.

"It's only going to be a matter of time before Susie's parents file an appeal and things start going straight to hell." Marrin continued.

Highweller inhaled and exhaled, clearly trying to maintain his calm. "All right. When does her sentence end?"

"October 7th. Ten days."

Highweller 'hmm'ed to himself a little over the phone. "Then we need to move onto salvaging the situation…"

…

"This entire fiasco should have never happened in the first place."

Andrew Derkins, Susie's father, just back from Iraq with thankfully only a few new scars, knew that had to be the third time he'd said something like that phrase during the conversation. The absurdity and cruelty of the situation, however, demanded the point be made. He had not risked his life to come home and have some egomaniacs use the judicial system as their own personal sex toy. His daughter deserved better.

The lawyer he spoke to, Louis Belary, 28 years old, took notes. Shaved head, African American, disciplined. He had contacted Andrew and Tina, claiming to have prior experience with Marrin and his methods. While his professionalism and stoic demeanor as he reviewed the happenings was admirable to Andrew, it unnerved him as well- the man took this all in stride, as if it were perfectly normal work. Or that this was normal for Marrin.

Putting his concern to words, he spoke cautiously. "Has Marrin done this sort of thing before?"

"Go after an innocent person? Absolutely." Louis' eye twitched, but only for a moment as he shuffled some papers. "You may have heard of that one case where he punished a boy with public humiliation for shoplifting and then tapes were found proving him innocent?"

Andrew vaguely recalled a news segment on that. "That was the case where he tried to make the boy write an essay about how the punishment was good for him, right? How the hell does he-"

"Stay on the seat? Marrin has friends. In that case, he claimed it was an attempt at rehabilitation rather than punishment, so he avoided a lawsuit. But here, given the extent of your daughter's injuries and the blatant violations of her constitutional rights, he won't be able to do that." Louis jotted more notes. "The video evidence released recently will, of course, only help our case."

Calvin's doing, Andrew noted, the irony not lost on him. It had been three years ago he had suggested maybe boot camp would grind the hellion out of the Halgins brat. Now, it was that same rebellion- tempered and focused- that was aiding Susie, the very person Calvin had antagonized in younger years.

"I want to warn you- Marrin is going to fight your appeal every step of the way. If there's one thing he can't stand, it's to be proven wrong."

"So why did he go after Susie in the first place?" Through this whole fiasco, he had known his daughter to be innocent. The question had been why, of all people, she had been singled out.

"Honestly? I don't know. I have theories, some of which coincide with… Calvin, was it?"

The Halgins boy was the source of a professional lawyer's theories on bizarre legal actions. Truly, it was a sign the world was going insane when Calvin was the one most on the ball.

"You think it's a conspiracy between Goffels, Highweller, and Marrin?" Andrew asked.

"It's the only thing that really makes sense. Highweller may be bribing or coercing Marrin and Goffels into working with him. They don't have any reason otherwise to do this. If we can plant the seed that there is a conspiracy to slander her, and that this was all done for the sheer purpose of defamation, that will really help her case."

Tina walked in then. She looked every part a blonde bombshell, a trophy wife. But her beauty hid a mind honed by years of legal experience and a mother's protectiveness that put a bear's to shame. "So our case for getting her charges dismissed is strong. What about the civil suit?"

Belary looked up. "Assuming all goes well and the charges get dismissed, you can file against Caldern for pain and suffering, and Marrin and Highweller for conspiracy to commit defamation. Goffels we can probably get for allowing the whole lecture to occur in the first place, but if what I hear is true, there may not be much left after the Halgins family gets done with him."

"So that really happened, then? They actually tried to torture information out of Calvin?" Tina asked. "Is Calvin all right?"

"From what I heard, he was hospitalized, and one teacher that Goffels rehired has already been arrested."

Andrew sank back into his seat, dazed. Smear campaigns and frame jobs aimed at his daughter in retaliation for charity. Assassination and interrogations on a boy who said it was wrong.

He'd left one battlefield to come home to another, it seemed.

…

Time in the hospital had allowed Calvin to think.

Partly about the particulars of the events. Mostly about how he was going to start killing people once he got out.

Marrin, Moe and his father could both do with being set on fire. Given their body fat, they'd burn for a good while. Kalen deserved an acid bath. That could be arranged with a large plastic bucket of water and his transmogrifier pistol. Goffels deserved no spectacular death- just locked somewhere remote, without food or water. As for Highweller, he wasn't sure how to set acid on fire- he'd have to consult Jason Fox- but once he learned how he knew the method of execution he would use.

His parents had brought him his laptop and Hobbes, the latter of which had varied between indignant rage and concern.

"So it's finally happened. A teacher tried to kill you." Hobbes tried at levity.

Calvin laughed weakly. "And it was due to something I wrote. I think mom owes dad twenty bucks."

If it were anyone but Kalen, he'd actually be surprised. He opened up his laptop, thankful for the hospital wifi. He'd finally managed to, after an initial round of painkillers, get in contact with the boy, Lorez Garcia, who Marrin had sentenced wrongly for shoplifting. It had taken some talking to get him to open up, but the mention of his recent predicament, and Susie's ordeal got him to agree to an internet interview.

He booted up the chat client. Lorez was online, as promised.

He flicked his mic on. "Testing one two three, Lorez, you hearing me over there?"

"Loud and clear. You ready to do this?" Lorez's voice reflected a healthy man.

Actually, Calvin wasn't. He needed a good week-long nap, a new body, and a new planet to live on. But he knew that any easing up on Highweller and Marrin meant that Susie's case, strong as it was, would suffer.

"We're recording, go ahead."

Lorez took a deep breath, exhaled. "So, yeah, I guess pretty much everyone knows the basics. I got accused of shoplifting. I had Judge Marrin. He basically threw out anything that could have helped my case- video surveillance, my parent's testimony, a few witnesses, all thrown out. So that left the evidence against me being the store owner saying "I think he did it" and that was enough for Marrin. I had to pay a $3,000 fine which wiped out my college savings, and pick up trash wearing a sign that said "I am a thief and a liar, honk if you think I deserve this.""

"And when did evidence come up that you were innocent?" Calvin asked.

"Like, one day after the sentencing, from the same guy who accused me in the first place. He reviewed the tapes, saw it was an employee stealing, and tried to get Marrin to drop the rest of my sentence- which was five months."

"But Marrin didn't?"

"Nope. I only found out about him going to Marrin at the very end. The asshole says that even though he agreed I was innocent, that I needed the exercise and the humility. 'So, no harm done', he said."

So far, Marrin was living up to his reputation, Calvin noted. "I also heard a rumor about him making you write about how the sentence gave you a work ethic?"

"Oh, yeah," Lorez's tone grew bitter. "**That.** He wanted me to write an essay thanking him for teaching me humility and a work ethic, and how having shit thrown at me while I picked up trash wearing a stupid sign was a good experience."

"And did you?" Calvin inquired.

"Not exactly. I wrote him an essay, yeah, but it was less about how it was a good experience and more about how he was full of shit."

"I take it he didn't take that well."

"He tried to have me arrested. Another judge threw that out, so there's that."

Calvin nodded to himself as he jotted notes. An egotist through and through, the man believed himself so righteous that even wrongful punishment had a purpose.

"And what about the fines he made you pay?"

Lorez laughed. "Didn't pay back a cent. Said to consider it my payment for his 'therapy'. We've gotten donations from people who heard my case, but he never paid back a dime."

Odd. Marrin wouldn't benefit from a fine directly, so he had no financial motivation to keep the money… unless the system was so corrupt as to see the fines going directly into his pockets, which given everything that had happened was a distinct possibility.

"Has he given you any trouble since?" Calvin asked. It was partly for the blog entry, partly to gauge Marrin's obsession.

"For a while, yeah. About six months."

Calvin suppressed a curse. Hobbes looked at him in disbelief. "What did he do during that time?"

"Had arrest warrants out for me every other day. It got to the point the police stopped arresting me about a month in. Threatening phone calls about me being ungrateful. Hell, he once showed up to a job interview claiming I was supposed to be in rehab…"

Marrin, as the interview continued, was sounding less like a judge with racism issues and more like a stalker.

…

**OCTOBER**

"You can't be serious."

Marrin's tone, for perhaps the first time in his entire career as a judge, was pleading instead of authoritative or condescending. Before him were a panel of his fellow judges, all regarding him with at best cool indifference, in a few cases abject stares of malice were focused on him. If looks could kill, he would be a dead man, Marrin was certain of that.

Only a few days ago, Marrin had been planning to lengthen Susie Derkins' sentence at Highweller's command, citing her lack of contrition. Now he stood on trial himself. The irony was sickening as he poised his next argument. No matter how one looked at it, the case for continuing to punish Derkins was flimsy if not nonexistent.

"Yes, the trial was unorthodox, but-"

"Unorthodox? Marrin, you violated countless defendant's rights." Pauline Shandra, an African-american judge, approaching her 25th year on the bench. She was the one who was initially going to oversee Caldern's trial until Marrin had questioned her impartiality. He had hoped she wouldn't take that personally, but now he realized his hopes had been in vain. Shandra and he had never seen eye-to-eye on legal matters, and now it was apparent that she was going to exploit this opportunity to rake him over the coals to its fullest.

"We have requested countless times for you to explain the reasoning behind your actions- denying a defendant the right to counsel, the right to call witnesses, refusing to take into consideration her injured state, assigning a police officer under investigation for attempted murder to supervise her community service, denying her a trial by jury, blatantly refusing to hear any evidence that supported her case..." Shandra took a breath. "I will get straight to the point, Marrin. This goes beyond mere gross incompetence and reeks of conspiracy."

Marrin suppressed any facial reaction that might have indicated Shandra had hit home. "I thought this was a review of my actions, not a forum to pose ridiculous theories-"

"Ordinarily, I'd agree-" came the monotone of Samuel Verner, an wizened, hyper-conservative who Marrin had once regarded as the closest he'd ever come to having a friend. "-but the events prior and after the trial lend Shandra's theory merit. The business in Texas regarding the Belary family. The case against Lorenzo Garcia. Your presence at the lecture at which Susie Derkins was arrested, during which you were photographed restraining the principal from aiding a student who was being assaulted…"

"Officer Caldern deemed her a threat and-" Marrin tried to interject futilely.

"…Marrin, you and I both know when it's appropriate force and when it's brutality. What Caldern and his son did wouldn't be acceptable on a hardened felon, much less a honor roll student. Which brings me to the issues of Susie Derkins' trial immediately after her arrest, the interrogation you authorized by the Calderns which left her in dire need of emergency medical care, and your personal authorization of…" here Verner paused in disbelief. "…you authorized Moe Caldern to carry a firearm on school grounds?"

"We had reason to fear for his safety-"

"-and what of the multiple students who he assaulted during that time?" there was a rising hint of anger in Verner's normally even voice. "Was he feeling so threatened that he had to attack multiple students nearly half his weight and size from behind? Clearly, the wrong student was put on trial."

"Most damning of all, however," now Cole Lance, the young brat of Newden's courts, a thirty something idealist with blonde short hair, spoke- "are the testimonies from both Officer Caldern and his son Moe Caldern that you personally ordered them, in repayment for your releasing them from prison, to assassinate Calvin Halgins."

Of course. It made perfect sense. The two were bold and brave when they were free, but at the slightest sign of trouble they broke down. Marrin feigned shock. "I gave Caldern a warrant to arrest Calvin Halgins for questioning-"

"The very next day after the video that indicated you in attendance at the lecture, actively holding back Spittle from aiding Derkins, was posted." The insinuation was unspoken but clear.

"Officer Caldern acted on his own interests. I at no time authorized any use of lethal force." Marrin could not refrain from gritting his teeth, and he cursed himself as Shandra's lips thinned into a smile.

"Now, see, that's the problem." Shandra spoke softly, amused. "If we believe you, that you believed Caldern to be a suitable candidate for both overseeing Susie's punishment and Calvin's arrest, then that means you overlooked several pending charges of felony assault and corruption. If we believe Caldern, that means you used him as your personal enforcer in exchange for a pardon. If we believe neither of you, then we're left with a debacle the likes of which Newden has never seen. Your actions are sending a message to the rest of the world that we punish anyone who dares to do a good deed."

"The rehabilitation was not issued for her 'good deed', it was given because she resisted arrest!"

Marrin countered, desperately trying to salvage the case.

"I'll be perfectly blunt, Marrin." Verner chimed in. "Given the testimony of the students we've interviewed and the video evidence, it is nigh-unto impossible for Susie to have put up the fight you assert she did in your ruling, even without handcuffs. I suggest you start preparing a defense of your own, now."

Marrin paled. It was bad enough to have other judges openly dismiss his ruling, to be brought to trial was unthinkable. "You can't." He gasped, his heart pounding.

"We must." Verner responded. "Otherwise we will all be seen as tyrants."

So that was it, then. They were sacrificing him to the public eye, to satiate the outcry for retribution.

He reflected bitterly on how at the start of all this, he'd thought Highweller the extremist. Now he revered him.

At least the man was an honest extremist.

…

Susie Derkins expected more resistance with the appeal.

She was relieved to see the judge presiding was not Marrin or Highweller- Samuel Verner, an elderly man, presided. He was notorious for being strict, but he was a fair judge.

Her mother's use of makeup had helped to diminish the remaining bruises and they had afforded her clothes that met the necessary decorum while allowing her comfort, but still the aches and pains of her exhausted body made her struggle to find a position that didn't bring discomfort. The rigid wooden chair gave no such relief.

The docket numbers were read, and for a moment, as Verner peered over the documents, he thought he had fallen asleep. Finally he spoke.

"It has often been said that 'no good deed goes unpunished', and regretfully, that seems to be the sole motive behind what appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a conspiracy to defame a young woman who's crime consisted solely of not fitting the stereotype preached by certain individuals. That two of these individuals decided it necessary to demoralize the students who aided her in a selfless act of charity is reprehensible enough. That they engaged in a petty, malicious smear campaign in retaliation for such an admirable act is an outrage I never thought possible in this country, let alone the court in which I serve."

For another half minute, Verner fell silent. Susie only now saw how drained the man was. Sad, disappointed. She initially planned to read the first judge she saw the riot act as much as she could, but it was clear that Verner was involved in this mess only in the clean up.

"The damage to the trust our children hold in the city's ability to fairly enforce laws has been damaged severely, perhaps irrevocably. I don't know what the extent of the damage done to your trust in the law is. All I can offer is this- the promise that restitution will be made, and a heartbroken man's apology. Miss Derkins, please stand and face the court."

Susie stood, still disbelieving that it could be over this soon and so quickly. She glanced at Calvin, who sat still, silent, dumbfounded, clearly disbelieving this could end so quickly.

"I hereby order Susie Derkins record expunged of all charges. She is to be reimbursed for the time spent doing community service in addition to pending restitution from the parties responsible. This court is adjourned."

Belary looked surprised, but pleased with the results. "Well, that was quick." He remarked.

Susie allowed herself to breathe. After all the pain and shame, the maddening contradictions and blatant favoritism, she was finally free.

She looked again at Calvin, who was still frozen with shock, being shaken lightly by his mother. She couldn't blame him- for a while, the idea that any amount of justice would come so easily seemed impossible to her, too.

There were reporters, of course. Asking questions about how she felt about the verdict, the ordeal, if she regretted the charity event. She answered briefly and succinctly. Candace, flushed with relief, did likewise. Calvin was swarmed but could only managed dull mutterings and an occasional chuckle.

Suits would be filed against Marrin for his actions. There would no doubt be difficulties in proving that it was a genuine act of malice against her that led him to sentence her. But for now, she allowed herself to relax.

She needed a long hot bath and an entire container of chocolate ice cream. Maybe both at once.

…

The reports from everyone he had working for him were dismal.

Fron Caldern, the announcement that the tried-and-true "I was only following orders" had led to a devastating chain reaction that had culminated in Marrin's own report: Susie had been fully exonerated and now the eye of scrutiny was on Marrin for his involvement, as well as his accomplices during the lecture…

Jeremy Goffels was in full panic mode, and this time Highweller had to concede he had a legitimate reason: the second attempt to eliminate Calvin Halgins had backfired spectacularly. Initially Highweller had worried if Kalen would be too soft to kill, now it was apparent the opposite was true: she had made a racket with her sadistic beating, so much that Halgin's mother had found them while investigating her son's absence. That she had been witnessed by several teachers openly baying for Calvin's blood allowed for them to potentially dismiss her as a lunatic whose testimony was unreliable, but that was the sole glimmer of hope to be salvaged from the mess.

It would be a matter of time before the connections between him and Highweller were made, and the feds began beating down his door.

Of utmost importance, however, was that Susie Derkins, the target of this entire endeavor, was essentially going to walk away scott-free. The little whore had now done two-fold damage to his cause, casting doubt on his teachings and now showing those he targeted could escape his justice.

He had wanted her broken, damned in the eyes of the public. Now he saw the futility in that; the city of Newden had seen her as a saint for her actions and now a martyr who was the victim of a travesty of justice. The only people left in his corner were the people of the High Ground community, a child-free paradise for those who saw the reasoning in his logic.

He alone acted as their mayor, their judge, their pastor, and now, it seemed, he would act as their general.

It was time to go to war.

…

"_Brothers and sisters who have sought order, I come bearing grave news. The courts of Newden have openly betrayed their own Brian Marrin, offering him up as little more than a human sacrifice to soothe the ego of the Whore of Babylon."_

"_In precious few days, the grip we had on Susie Derkins was broken by the demonic manifestation of chaos we have come to know as Calvin Halgins. While our focus remains on destroying the pedestal on which the Whore of Babylon stands, we must not ignore this deceiver who sows chaos for his own sick amusement."_

"_As to our methods now, it is woefully apparent that those in charge of enforcing the law care more as to how they look than the long-term consequences of their actions and inactions. What I say now I do not say lightly or without consideration."_

"_To ensure a safe future, we must obey our own law and strike down the Whore of Babylon and all who side with her."_

-Emergency speech given by Simon Highweller to members of the "High Ground" community.


	5. Trial

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter V: Trial

…

"_Goethe said it best: "Distrust those in whom the desire to punish is strong." I would like to expand on that remark, that those who are in positions of power who frequently use punishment deal with youth are not to be trusted at all."_

"_The recent farce that was the Susie Derkins trial wasn't simply a cruel, vicious attack on someone who had committed no offense, it was a waste of resources and a damning blow to the very fragile trust children and teens give the law. It is good that eventually other judges stepped in and intervened, and that Judge Verner threw out any conviction against Susie, but the fact that the punishment lasted for a month before anyone caught on is disturbing."_

"_Using the word 'farce' to describe a trial is an attack not done lightly- at every point, from arrest to interrogation to trial to sentencing, done all in the same day, it seemed that Judge Marrin had a checklist of rights to violate. Susie was not allowed a lawyer, or a chance to even represent herself. All evidence for her innocence was thrown out, and attempts by other students and teachers to testify on her behalf were denied. Her interrogation, as is evidenced by her testimony and doctor's reports, consisted of being brutally beaten by former officer Caldern and his son. Her community service consisted of being denied water and made to work far later than her sentence allotted for."_

"_I would be lying if I said these events did not move me to outrage, but still, like so many others no doubt do, I have to ask- what was the point of all this?"_

"_Highweller, a judge long known for his ultra-negative opinion on juveniles and a TV show "Hang 'em Highweller", in which he subjects juveniles on trial to screaming tirades, was the primary speaker at the lecture at which Susie was arrested. That he explicitly announced her arrest immediately after an ad hominem attack in which he called her the "whore of Babylon" lends credence to theories that this was a conspiracy to defame her. If indeed Highweller and Marrin believe that children and teens are inherently corrupt, then shouldn't someone who organized a community-benefitting event that required personal sacrifice be exalted? The only conclusion that can be drawn from Highweller's travel to Ohio for the explicit purpose of verbally assaulting Susie Derkins, followed by her immediate arrest on false charges, is that Highweller and Marrin have such an intense hatred of youth that they are willing to punish anyone who defies the norm they have established for juveniles."_

"_This is not being 'set in one's ways.' It is not being strict. It is obsession with punishing children for punishment's sake. Highweller's site defends his position as a result of his witnessing 'youth wasting opportunities and dragging the country down with a complete disrespect for the law'. His chosen method of addressing this problem- imposing harsh penalties on any juvenile unfortunate to cross his path and going so far as to hunt down those who defy his expectations of children, infer a much simpler explanation: Highweller is a sadistic tyrant."_

"_My question, as I sit here with bruises and wounds from various lunatics and corrupt police healing slowly, is thus: What are Highweller and his allies trying to prove?"_

-October 8th entry on Calvin's website

…

"You think it's wise to diss the same judges who just got Susie off the hook?" Hobbes inquired as Calvin posted his most recent entry.

"Look, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. But it took a whole month to figure out that something wasn't kosher with Susie's trial. If that had been an adult that had been put on that sort of trial, we'd have seen a response in two days, tops." Calvin shifted in his seat- his injuries from Kalen's attack hadn't fully healed.

Part of him was vindicated in that Kalen was for all intents and purposes out of a job, but there still remained a part of him that yearned to take a baseball bat to her limbs.

For that matter, he was quite sure everyone involved in Susie's torment- Moe, Joe, Marrin, Goffels, Highweller, and the other pricks who had sent him emails gloating about Susie's arrest- could do with a prolonged flogging with barbed wire, complete with being thrown into a pit of salt mixed with ants.

"I mean, they got their act together, yeah, but only after she spent a month doing community service for nothing. That's like having the fire department come five days after your house burns down."

"I still think you're being harsh." Hobbes countered, arms crossed. "They probably can't just override a ruling because it ticks them off or they disagree with it. And it's not like the judge looked at the mess, shrugged, and said 'oh well, tough luck', he's making reparations and setting the groundwork for the suit against the people involved."

"Yes, and that's good- but still, the whole "arrested, tried, and sentenced in one day" thing should have set off more alarm bells."

"Oh, come on, you were clearly expecting the worst of the judge." Hobbes retorted. "I saw your face on the news- you were all 'holy shit, did that actually happen?'. Admit it. The system actually surprised you in a good way for once."

"Okay, okay, fine." Calvin conceded with a sigh. "I was honestly expecting more bullshit about how Marrin was 'only trying to teach a valuable lesson' or something like that. I still think there's room for improvement."

Hobbes shrugged. "That I won't argue. Off that topic, any evidence to your theory?"

Calvin sighed and looked dour. "None."

The bipedal feline frowned. "Nothing linking Highweller and the High Ground with RAW?"

"Highweller's basically fellating them on his website with praise, but beyond that, no. Not that I could find, at least."

That was one theory fading fast- that the High Ground community was a front for RAW, and the attack on Susie was just another operation on their behalf. The alternative was one that Calvin didn't even want to consider.

The fact that Rod and Whip- an organization dedicated solely to the kidnapping and torture of children- existed was awful enough. The idea that another group could form under similar ideals, that all children were inherently evil and that anyone who tried to prove otherwise should be punished, was a dread theory he hadn't dared contemplate until now.

…

Highweller wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish, watching the web broadcast of Susie's post-trial interview. All it seemed to achieve was to aggravate his ulcer.

"I don't know why Highweller hates me, but I'm just glad this is all over." Susie's commentary to the press was brief and to the point.

Evasive bitch probably knew he'd analyze her comments for some weakness.

Another direct attack like the lecture and arrest approach he used before would be useless- Marrin would no longer be presiding and the rest of Newden's judges were now wise to such tactics. It would be more likely than not that he would be arrested, the ultimate failure. He could imagine what a field day the whore's friend, Calvin, would have with that.

He had initially thought Calvin just another attention-seeking blogger bastard, but then he had done some research into the Halgins boy, and wasn't too surprised at what he found. A history of laziness and acting out in school. Disturbing snow sculptures. A few, vague reports of something called the "Noodle Incident" that resulted in the FBI being called to clean the local elementary school and, bizarrely, no charges filed.

The recent "Rod and Whip" incident worried him the most. The official story reported that Calvin was abducted at gunpoint under the pretense of police protection, and somehow after being held captive by two grown men and transferred to a juvenile detention center, Calvin and several other individuals had killed multiple armed guards, forced the rest to evacuate, and rescued hundreds of children and teens "imprisoned" there.

Propaganda. Sensationalism. No doubt such a facility existed, and that the guards were armed, but such measures were necessity when dealing with the violent youth of the modern age, who could make lethal weapons out of the most innocuous materials. He had no questions that Calvin was taken against his will and his parents; they were too soft on the little criminal and it showed in his past.

Nor did he have doubts that there was a body count. He didn't understand the fuss, really- the threat of death was probably the only thing left that could really make the corrupt youth of the day afraid. The media, however, was still reporting on it as a tragedy.

Yes, it was a tragedy. A tragedy that such well-meaning individuals with such initiative were derailed by one hellion.

No doubt Calvin was putting together a piece to slander him directly even now, rallying the youth against a supposed 'adult dictatorship'.

They would find something in the aftermath, he assured himself. A journal entry of Calvin's that described violent intent against him or Highweller. Maybe a random student's ravings. A gun hidden in a student's bedroom would be a godsend. If nothing was found, they could create something.

The ramifications from this would be severe. But he would not yield to the Whore of Babylon without throwing everything he had at her, the Halgins bastard, the lawyer, everyone who had dared to help her.

He began making calls. If he was going to go to war, he had to make sure his allies were prepared.

…

Candace Maple hadn't been prepared for the hate mail.

Calvin had warned her, of course, and she had heeded his warning about viruses and hate-filled inanities that would be heading her way, but what had shocked her was the sheer volume.

564 new messages. Some were virus laden and isolated automatically. The others were profanity mixed with condemnation of her defending Susie.

The most well written read thusly:

"_If you are going to side with the Whore of Babylon, then you should know that we, the ones who side with order and purity, will show no mercy to her allies, whether your allegiance is out of lesbian lust, slavish devotion, or some horribly warped form of courage. Prepare for war, Candace Maple, because a day of reckoning is coming for all who bow to the Whore."_

Her father had called the police, of course, and they agreed that they would keep an eye on her house, but still Candace kept her window blinds closed and huddled under her bedsheets as she desperately tried to sleep.

She tried not to think about what Susie had confided to her after the trial- that the whole mess had started with hate mail after the charity drive was finished.

Candace knew she'd done the right thing. Susie knew. Judge Verner knew. Her dad knew and her mother was no doubt smiling from heaven at her.

But as she tried counting sheep and burying her head in her pillow, she remembered what the whispers in school had been as soon as Susie was sentenced:

No good deed goes unpunished.

…

Calvin sat before Goffels in what was supposed to be Spittle's office. His body was healing quickly, the result of his mother's loving care and plenty of rest, but he would far prefer the familiar stony gaze of Spittle to the dead look Goffels' face held. Spittle was a hardass, but he was a reasonable hardass, who would yield to logic if nothing else.

Goffels was a malleable coward, unreliable at best when there was no crisis to spur him, flip-flopping on issues to the point his former lack of involvement in the school had been seen as a blessing. Now, spurred by Highweller, Goffels was little more than an extension of the corrupt judge's will.

He had gotten the notice he was 'unexpelled' nearly immediately after Susie's acquittal. It would be far too lucky for Goffels to have had a change of heart based solely on the verdict, more likely the reversal of his expulsion was so that he could keep an eye on him.

"I have to say I am extremely disappointed, Mr. Halgins." Goffels spoke finally.

If it were Spittle, Calvin would have at least maintained a bare minimum of civility. Goffels, on the other hand, had left him to be the punching bag for his bitch of a psycho ex-teacher, so he felt no such compunction.

"I'd imagine you would be." Calvin replied, voice dripping with false consolation. "If I were you, and my last ditch effort to salvage a bad situation by kidnapping one of my own students went all Hindenburg on me, I would be disappointed too."

Goffels replied with nothing but a scowl.

"I meant I am extremely disappointed in **you, **Calvin. I was hoping that we could reach a middle ground, but you seem bound and determined to force me to resort to extreme measures to maintain decorum." Goffels leaned his head on his clasped hands, trying to seem imposing.

Calvin fought the unexpected urge to feel pity for the man. Here he was, desperately trying to impress and intimidate him, a 13 year old, after failing to break or kill him. There were bags under his eyes, and he leaned heavily on his hands from sleeplessness. There was a strong smell of alcohol wafting from him.

Truly, this was nothing short of the death throes of a career, if not a life.

"You mean by not retracting what I said about the facility or Susie's arrest? Children **died**. Am I supposed to just tell their families that I made it all up when the FBI is still rooting around in there, trying to make sense of it all? As for Susie's arrest… you were there. You saw what happened. I know it was a sham. The teachers and students know it was a sham. So why are you insisting I'm lying?"

"I do not have to explain my reasons to you, only my demands. You will turn over your passwords, apologize to the student body for lying, apologize on your blog for lying, or I will see to it you never graduate, never get into another school, never get a job-"

Calvin could only manage a sigh at the deluge of threats. "Now, see, there's a lot of problems with that. First and foremost being that all it's going to take is one or two teachers siding with me when my grades don't match my report card, and you have scandal number three on your hands."

It was predictable that Goffels would cringe and begin to lose air. His posture shifted, his eyes widened.

"Second, God help you if the parents or students find out. I mean, have you poked your head out of your office recently? Teachers, students, all the faculty right down to the janitors… they're getting pissed. You turned this school from what was a passable learning center into your own little fiefdom, and the people aren't happy. You're a few more unpopular decisions from a massive student-walk out or a strike."

Calvin stood up. "You've never been intimidating, Goffels. If it was Spittle in that chair, I might actually sweat a little, because Spittle didn't make threats- he made **warnings** about when heads would roll."

Goffels stood up, eyes livid. "You walk out that door, you're a dead man, do you understand?!"

It took Calvin a few moments to register that Goffels hand inched towards a pair of scissors. For a brief moment, Calvin felt the need to run, to find something to defend himself, then he noticed how badly Goffels hands shook.

And he laughed.

Dumbfounded, Goffels stared at him, hands still shaking. "What the hell is so funny?"

Calvin forced himself to stop. "Nothing, really. It's really just a sad, sad joke. That was it, wasn't it? That's your final card- a death threat you can't carry out. Because you don't want to get your hands dirty, Goffels. You don't want to deal with your problems, or face up to your mistakes. You just want to hide behind whatever Spittle, Marrin, or Highweller you can find, having someone wipe your sorry ass every time you crap the bed."

Calvin opened the door, turning back one last time to witness Goffels, shoulders slumped, mouth agape.

"Oh, and if you, by some **miracle,** do managed to find your balls long enough to try and kill me, you'd better get it right the first time. Because I spent my summer vacation killing bastards with ten times the skill you have and God-only-knows how bigger a dick."

Calvin waited until he was a good distance away to flick off the tape recorder.

Insinuating the very notion that he was prepared to kill an administrator was an act of idiocy he'd never dreamed of doing, but the recent mess of being kidnapped and tortured over comments he made on the internet had left him with an admittedly degraded set of standards.

For a moment, he worried about the tape. It had him threatening Goffels rather explicitly, but it had Goffels admitting to 'extreme measures' and calling him a dead man. A lawyer could work with that.

They had a substitute in math. The day would be spent reviewing formulas for the upcoming test.

He found himself looking forward to the class, oddly. It would be a welcome interjection of normalcy into what was quickly becoming a constant lunacy.

…

Belary finished filing away his papers on the Derkins case when there was a knock on his office door.

Rather than wait for a reply, the visitor walked in. Brian Marrin, it was obvious from the bags under his eyes he had clearly seen better days.

It took every ounce of restraint Louis had to refrain from beating the man to death then and there. The tub of lard had put both his parents to death and put him in prison multiple times on whatever trumped up charges his enforcers felt were appropriate. Instead, he took a minor amount of satisfaction in observing that Marrin's life was going to hell and that he was responsible.

"We need to talk." Marrin said simply. It was an attempt to sound civil, something that Belary once believed Marrin could not do to anyone who wasn't Caucasian and wealthy.

Part of him wanted to verbally tear into Marrin, give him a recitation of all the reasons he had to not aid him, to watch his career slowly spiral into flames, but he had work to do and clients to meet.

"No." Belary snapped. "No, we don't. Get out of my office." He would not verbally spar with this man, this waste of oxygen who had ruined his childhood and now tried to do so to a girl for God-only-knew-why.

"My career is going down the toilet if I don't get help." Marrin's voice was pleading.

Belary looked up, disbelieving. "You want me to defend you?" He failed to suppress a laugh. "You put my mother and father in the chair, you send your goons after me every goddamn week…"

"Look, I'm not denying I made mistakes. Big ones. But you turned out okay, better than okay for all of it-"

"The only reason I became a lawyer was to make sure people like you didn't go on killing sprees!" Belary's patience was wearing thinner with every moment. Desperately he mentally searched for some legal loophole that would justify penetrating Marrin's corneas with a letter opener. Despairing as he found no such mercy, he forced his voice to be as even as his temper and waning patience would allow, succumbing to the want-slash-need to voice his grievances.

"You broke every written and unwritten rule in the book with that girl. Even if I did take your case, even if the idea of you going to jail for being a fraudulent son of a bitch didn't make me the closest to happy I have been in decades, it's a lost cause! You denied her every right, every privilege, every single decency the law provides for, just like you did to me and my family. Get the hell out of my office, Marrin."

Marrin lunged, catching him across the jaw with his fist. Sloppy. It might leave a bruise, but it was no haymaker. Marrin grabbed him by the shirt, nostrils flaring in anger, forehead beaded with sweat. "Goddamn you, I made you what you are today, and if you're not going help me then you sure as hell won't mock-"

Belary felt himself genuinely smile as he felt his fist crash into Marrin's face. He had practiced that punch every day for the past twenty years, with one purpose in mind.

As Marrin's head smashed against the wall, denting the plaster, that purpose was fulfilled infinitely more than he had ever dared to dream. His secretary, a red-headed young woman, peered in, gasping.

"Penelope, call the police." Belary found his voice much less tense now that one of his lifelong goals had been achieved; Marrin lay bleeding from his nose, eyes watering, clutching at his face. It was not the vicious beating-to-death he had fantasized in his youth, but he would take his victories where he could find them.

He had done the Derkins job pro bono- it was a karmic thing for lawyers, and his past experiences with Marrin had largely influenced the decision to take the case for free. But now he felt more satisfaction than any amount of money could provide.

…

Susie had been afraid that Goffels would resort to retribution after the kidnapping attempt and her acquittal, but as far as anyone could tell he had been absent ever since he had called Calvin Halgins into his office.

The trickled down rumors from the office had it that Calvin had lamblasted Goffels into submission, laughing off both threats to his grades and his life and limb, calling him out on his cowardice.

Susie shook her head as she walked home. Two months ago, she would have dismissed the very ideas of what had happened in the past few months as the ideas of Calvin's delusional mind.

Except Calvin _wasn't_ delusional. Not anymore.

There was an organization, size unknown, dedicated to the torture of kids. There were people out there who were willing to punish those who did good deeds just for kicks. And the school had become a jail with Goffels as the warden, crumbling as the morale of students and teachers alike withered with incident after incident.

Calvin had gone from being the class clown to the voice of reason and sanity. He had fought tooth and nail for her from the very beginning, and no amount of injury or death threat seemed to slow him down.

Fought for her.

The brat who used to pelt her with water balloons and snowballs was now her champion, and his actions had no doubt played a heavy part in getting her acquitted.

The Grindstone incident had changed him. Of course it had. Who could have come out of such a hellish ordeal and not reexamined their life? She had questioned her faith during this crisis and reestablished it when she found there were people like Calvin and Candace who didn't back down in the face of corruption.

Calvin, on the other hand, had watched innocent children die.

This had to be a result of that, a crusade he had embarked on. It couldn't just be a crush.

…

Jeremy Goffels was watching his world fall apart, at an ever-increasing pace.

Parents were asking questions. About Calvin's expulsion and kidnapping, mainly, but also his involvement in the lecture. Why Spittle wasn't back in charge.

It was all that girl's fault, he consoled himself, as he drank another shot of bourbon.

He wanted to crawl into a hole someplace and never come out, but his deal with Highweller made that an impossibility.

He had been a godsend after a stupid, stupid mistake. The girl, an 11 year old brat who didn't fall for the 'tell anyone and I'll kill your family' trick would have ruined his life. He had let his impulses get the better of him once. He had only called her into his office to tell her to stop dressing **that** way, he hadn't meant to go that far.

Highweller had kept his end, he had to admit. The lawsuit disappeared along with the family before word got out. He was certain the girl and her family were all dead. He'd effectively put out a hit on them.

_It served her right._ He told himself. _I warned her._

The fact that his threat was delivered in full was of little comfort now, with all the crisises he faced. A teacher he had rehired dragged out of the school by the police, screaming death threats about a student he had hoped to discredit. The teachers all but in full revolt. Angry letters and death threats. If he ran now, Highweller's releasing of all the dirt he held on him would have the world out for his blood.

Calvin was back in school, but for all intents and purposes untouchable. He had hoped the bout with Kalen would have weakened his resolve, but now Calvin seemed more determined than ever. He was sticking to his story that Goffels was part of his kidnapping and assault, and any attempts to dissuade him would be met with immediate suspicion.

His instructions to Kalen were clear- intimidate him into surrendering his passwords and recanting, or just get the passwords and kill him. Of course, Deetra Kalen hadn't the common sense to bail out when things got bad- she had been trying to stab him to the very moment she was dogpiled and subdued.

That hadn't been the moment everything had gone completely downhill, though.

Candace Maple.

She had recorded the video that had let Calvin unleash pandemonium on them all. It was bad enough the girl had recorded Susie's arrest and Heighs' being shot- in an act of pure malice, the girl had film him and Marrin restraining Spittle.

Again, he found his life crumbling to shambles over one girl.

He drank deeply from the bottle, not even bothering with the shotglass, as he glared at Candace's picture on his computer monitor.

If it weren't for the glasses, she'd be a perfect resemblance of that girl. His old victim's name escaped him- he had done everything he could to put her out of his head and memory, avoiding any chance whatsoever someone could discover the skeletons in his closet…

_I bet you think you're a hero._ He mentally snarled at the grinning girl. That was the problem with kids these days, they wrecked carefully laid plans, destroyed lives, and could sleep at night with a smile.

His phone rang. A quick glance at the ID confirmed his worst fears- Highweller, who only called when he wanted something.

He picked up. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. "Hello?" His speech was slurred, but he didn't care.

"Goffels, I need you to schedule another lecture. Just me, this time."

That sobered him up.

"Are…" he snapped, standing to his feet, nearly knocking the bottle of bourbon over, "you completely out of your mind?! Do you have any idea just how-"

"You do this for me, and we're done. You'll be free. No questions asked."

Freedom. Free from being his go-fer. Free from worrying if he'd let the evidence, the pictures, the recordings he had of Goffels' desperate, incriminating ramblings slip to the police.

It was worth it. Anything was worth it.

"What time do you want?" he asked, hands shaking with excitement.

…

Marrin was, for the first time in his life, glad to see Highweller. Lockup was bad for those who were in the judicial system, but for someone like him, notorious for racial bias and pettiness, another hour would have been fatal.

There was no respect given him by the arresting officers. They had sneered at him when he had explained that Belary had forgotten his place. They had searched him, shoved him in a cell with all the other gangbangers, drug addicts, and god-knew-what-else.

He had been treated like a criminal and his assailant- a **black **man- had gotten off scot-free. The world had gone mad.

He climbed into the car beside Highweller- a limousine. Highweller at least knew how to treat his debtors with respect- bailing them out when paying debts went sour and providing five-star transportation.

"I would tell you that the situation has gotten out of control, but I think that's redundant." He offered him a bottle of water and painkillers.

Marrin gratefully swallowed the pills with a swig of water. "No respect. No respect whatsoever."

Highweller nodded. "No one respects sacrifice, true sacrifice, anymore. The definition of sacrifice has changed so drastically. They look at people like me and you, who have dedicated our lives to enforcing the laws that keep this nation sane, and shrug and say "That's just their job." They look at Susie Derkins, and her one-hundred dollar piss-offering, and suddenly she's a candidate for sainthood."

Marrin coughed, nodding in agreement even as he wheezed. The holding cell probably hadn't been cleaned in decades, he figured. He would be lucky to only catch a cold. His head felt light- but that was to be expected. That ignorant sonofabitch had slammed his head into a wall. He would sue for pain and suffering, there was no doubt about that.

"I, however, Marrin, still value sacrifice. Those who are willing to put the greater good ahead of their own, let's face it, short term interests, are the true heroes who deserve recognition."

Highweller turned to face Marrin.

"I'll get to the point. You make one last sacrifice- for me- and we're clean. No more debt. No more anything."

Grateful as he was for Highweller's intervention again, Marrin could not resist an opportunity to be rid of him. No more calls to recruit psychotic cops. No more waging wars on schoolgirls. No more Judge Marrin the errand boy.

"All right." He wheezed. "I'm in. What do I have to do?"

Highweller smiled thinly. "You already did it."

Marrin felt a twinge of annoyance at Highweller's cryptic statement, compounded by the lightheadedness in his head getting worse. He was sweating profusely now, and his stomach and chest burned. Whatever he had caught was striking with a vengeance. "What do you mean?" Marrin was in no mood to play games.

Highweller simply gave him a thin smile. "Like I said, I appreciate true sacrifice. It's just that some sacrifices are given willingly, and some have to be taken."

Marrin tried to take in air, desperately, to tell Highweller he needed a hospital. Damn the riddles, whatever he caught was virulent beyond measure, and he needed a doctor…

Then he recalled the pills.

As he coughed, feeble puffs of air desperate to make his lungs work, clutching his chest and feeling his heartbeat slow, he realized his role in all of this. What the role of anyone who worked for Highweller was.

Sacrifices.

…

Perhaps it was excessive, mused Highweller, as he shoved Marrin's lifeless corpse to one side of the limo. But a point had to be made to his constituents turned soldiers, to those who would observe this coming battle, and to the Whore of Babylon herself- no one who opposed him escaped unscathed. _Nemo me impune lacessit._

Marrin was a tool that had, sadly, outlived his usefulness. At least while living. In death, he would provide both a martyr and well-needed victim to achieve an end greater than anything he could have done while alive and disgraced.

The Whore of Babylon, after all, had to be destroyed utterly in reputation and in life. Such a crusade was no doubt going to have costs.

Highweller simply found it was better to have other people pay.

…

Moe had thought of hundreds, if not thousands of ways he was going to kill the twinkie. With a power drill. With fire ants. Dropping him into a vat of molten metal. Burying him alive. Killing his family in front of him, making him watch. Setting him on fire. Or maybe just handcuffing him and beating him to death, in front of everyone, just to let them know what happened when they fucked with the Calderns.

Those thoughts only numbed the pain and humiliation slightly.

His time in Juvie was turning into a living hell. The strip search was bad enough. The beatings he got had him begging the others to stop. The food was awful and the guards thought he was the scum of the earth, eager to let him know it at every opportunity.

That was all before word got out he was involved in the Susie Derkins case. And that he was the son of Joe Caldern, who was responsible for countless inmates in the Newden Juvenile Hall.

Moe had laughed at stories his father told how desperate teens were when he found the weed he planted. Or the coke. Or the gun. How they cried during strip searches. How once they got out they were so pissed at the system that they started committing real crimes.

It was markedly less funny when he was the one being worked over by ten boys at least his size, kicking and stomping on him long after he'd fallen to the floor of the cafeteria.

The guards had broken up the ten versus one beating, but Moe knew the sons of bitches had waited a solid minute to allow the thugs to get in a few hard blows. The doctor had laughed when he'd seen him, told him he was lucky to get off so easy- the few sons of cops that found their way into the juvie hall often got much worse for much less.

Three missing teeth. His lips swollen and cut. Bruises everywhere. Bumps on his head where they'd used his head as a soccer ball. He was starving- the other inmates had made it their top priority to ensure his lunch tray was invariably upended onto the floor.

He lay in the infirmary, cuts stitched and daubed with burning ointment for the fourth time this week. Cuffed to a bed to ensure he wouldn't escape or take his own life, the only thing he had left to look forward to was brief periods of trying to sleep on a hard jail bed with whatever cellmate he had waking him up with a beating.

Two new guards, unfamiliar faces, came to escort him back. He knew the routine now. Walk as quick as the leg irons allowed, head down, don't ask questions…

He was startled when they turned right instead of left after exiting the infirmary.

He didn't dare speak, didn't dare ask what was going on as they marched him through a winding path, jerking him to a stop periodically, leading him through doors…

…outside.

Immediately he leapt to the conclusion that made the most sense. They were going to kill him and claim he'd tried to escape.

Strangely, Moe felt a lack of fear. Death seemed a welcome relief from being the local punching bag. Maybe whatever god existed would take pity on him- he'd certainly suffered enough for everything he'd done…

He was led to a van with painted windows, the sort of black vans of myth that whisked people away.

"Get in." The guard ordered.

The door opened, and Moe saw his father, equally battered, and equally surprised.

"Wh-"

"Quiet."

Moe shut up and got in his seat as he was buckled in. The door closed.

"Evening, boys. You all up for being asskickers instead of asskickees?"

Fatigues, powerbars, water bottles, and guns were provided, their handcuffs removed. His fatigue faded as his adrenaline began to flow, listening to the plans Highweller had for Verdant Junior High.

There was a God.

…

Friday, at long last.

Calvin's grades had improved. His distaste for school in general had not. More so with Goffels at the helm, alternating between betraying everyone in arm's reach to cover his ass and cowering in his home, an absentee landlord.

A few more minutes and he could go home and vegetate in front of the TV.

English was the last class of the day and wrapping up quickly. He decided to stop by Susie's on the way home, see how she was doing…

"All students and teachers to the auditorium. You are not dismissed. I repeat, all students and teachers to the auditorium. Failure to comply will be punished severely."

The reaction to the announcement was immediate and profound.

"Man, screw this-"

"He can't do that, can he? I have to do chores…"

"This is going to be more of the same bullshit he tried before, isn't it Calvin?" one boy inquired.

Yes, yes it was. And Calvin had reached his personal capacity for bullshit long ago.

The choice he would make was obvious. Walk out of school. What was Goffels going to do, complain that he had left on time?

He hefted his backpack and headed downstairs towards the nearest exit. It seemed a lot of other students had gotten the same idea. That might get the point across to Goffels, a mass walkout…

Then he saw the throng of people advancing toward the school doors. Clad in what appeared to be ill-fitting tactical vests and hunting clothes, a small troop of adults armed with rifles, handguns, and sub-machineguns advanced, barking orders incoherently but making their intent clear- no one was leaving.

Calvin mused, amid shrieks of horror and shouted commands from the adults bearing combat weaponry, that Goffels had brought his A-game for once.

They were ushered, along with panicked and stunned crowds of other students, to the auditorium. Goffels was alone on stage, flanked by Moe and Joe. They were battered and bruised, but they held assault rifles, wore tactical armor, and looked all too happy with the way things proceeded. The other adults were either keeping guns trained on the masses of students and teachers, or wheeling in what appeared to be oil drums.

Goffels immediately spotted him and pointed to him. "Search him, **now**."

_Goddammit._

He was thrown on the floor, and his belongings- a cell phone, his recorder, a few dollars, and his transmogrifier pistol were confiscated in short order after a none-too-gentle search.

"A squirt gun? Really, Calvin?" Goffels and a few of the other armed adults laughed as he was cuffed. "I expected at least a zip gun or knife… but a dinky squirt gun?"

Calvin gave no response. His only means of escape or overpowering the guards, gone. The unthinkable- the school overrun by madmen and madwomen with guns- had happened. In a few short months, anything resembling sanity or reason had taken a flying, suicidal leap out the window.

He looked around. Susie and Candace were near the front of the stage, handcuffed, on their knees, with shotguns leveled at their heads. Candace was terrified, Susie seemed beyond despair, beyond struggling, her head downcast. Heighs, having just returned after surgery, was in a seat, trying to look calm as an overweight woman poorly clad in makeshift body armor kept a revolver trained on his head, his crutches knocked out of reach.

Goffels was trembling, but this time he had a sick, twitch of a smile on his face, some perverse sort of emotional tincture between fear and anticipation.

"Anyone who makes a call will be killed, along with the ten other people closest to them." Goffels announced, oddly calm. "What, don't believe me?" He nodded to someone…

A burst of rapid gunfire filled the auditorium, followed by screams and wails. Calvin, saw out of the corner of his eye, the bodies of several students and teachers lying limply.

_Please, _he begged whatever God was listening. _Please let me wake up. Let this be a nightmare. This can't be happening…_

A TV set was wheeled on stage. It didn't take a lot of brain power for Calvin to realize what was going on, and sure enough, the image that flared to life on the screen was the wizened face of Highweller, looking smugly content.

"Hello, students of Verdant High, personal foot soldiers of the whore of Babylon. When you see this, I want you to understand that this outcome could have been avoided." The voice of Highweller, even recorded, dripped with a condescending malice. "But you chose to rally behind the concubine of Satan, and so you will burn with her. The astute of you- assuming **any **of you could be considered astute- have no doubt noticed the drums. I am going to assure that the taint of her rebellion is burned here."

"There are three persons you have specifically to thank for this. The whore of Babylon, named Susie Derkins, whose lies and actions have necessitated such extreme measures. Her own personal whore, Candace Maple, who did not learn from the example I hoped was made clear, and chose to rebel along with her." There was a pause. "I bet your testifying isn't sounding like such a good idea now, isn't it, little bitch?"

The gun-toting terrorists laughed ever so slightly.

"That brings me to you, Calvin Halgins. I have heard about your actions. How you brought well-meaning men and women to their knees, branded them as criminals, and then had the gall to paint the thugs they had locked up for the safety of the nation as victims. I thought you were, perhaps, an evil savant, hellbent on spreading misery for the sake of doing so, the devil made flesh."

Highweller took a drink of water. "You're not."

"You are, simply put, an ordinary boy who experienced an extraordinary string of good luck. A sane person who walked away from what you did would have buried themselves under the largest rock they could find and pray their name faded from the memory of the earth. You did not do so. You bragged. You boasted. And you had the gall to present it all as not so much showboating, but a perverse memorial to the wicked few that Grindstone could not save- turning criminals into martyrs for your cause. That is all you are, Calvin- a con man."

"Guards, escort the whore to the checkpoint."

As if interpreting what Calvin's impulse would be, a heavy foot crashed down on his back, forcing the wind from his lungs and pinning him to the ground. Joe and Moe dragged Susie off the stage and out the door, barely able to whimper in despair. Candace, a gun at the back of her head, stared helplessly.

For several minutes the figure of Highweller examined his watch. "The whore's sentence is simple. She will recant her lies. She will accept her punishment. She will tell the world she deserves it." He smiled. "…and she will do so because she will be told it will save you."

"Tragically, that will not be the case. Calvin Halgins, enraged at being exposed as a liar, will detonate the explosives you see in such vast quantities, in a suicide/murder that will vastly outweigh any merit any fool might see in his rantings. On that note, I would suggest positioning yourself **near** the bombs, contrary to instinct. You will be assured if not a painless death, a quicker one."

Calvin watched as several of the terrorists began placing devices near the stage, the door, everywhere a possible exit could be found. "If by chance one of you wishes to skip to the inevitable, by all means do trigger the infrared sensors my associates are setting up by now."

Highweller glanced at his watch again. "My, my, look at me rambling on. I had a bigger lecture planned, but considering your futures and your obvious lack of intelligence, that would be wasted, so I'll cut to the chase."

"Goffels, you have performed admirably. Your rewards are as follows- a van with a full gas tank, the tapes you have so desperately sought, and, to provide what I have no doubt will be much needed relief from the stress you have suffered, Candace Maple."

The effects of this announcement were immediate- horror washed over Candace's face, elation over Goffels.

Calvin struggled to get up, but it was useless. He could only watch as Candace's face was covered with a cloth, her struggling ceasing after a few moments. Heighs struggled to stand, cruelly knocked back into his seat. Several of the larger students tried to rush to the stage, and Calvin turned his head as gunfire rang out again.

Eventually the screaming and shooting stopped. Highweller had stopped talking, as if anticipating the chaos his words would cause. There was only sobbing and muffled cries of disbelief.

"Anyone else wanna be a hero?" Came a male voice from where the shooting had occurred. "I've got plenty of bullets left!"

Silence, save for sobbing. Calvin looked up, as Goffels was aided in stuffing Candace into a large duffel. Goffels tried his best to not look at the audience of shocked students-turned-hostages even as he hefted the bag.

He wanted to scream at Goffel's back, curse him, but he knew that the response from the gun toting madmen would be to shoot him or more students.

"That brings me to you, Calvin." There was a pause. "I really wanted to make you recant. I really did. I had researched methods on making you **happy** to recant. I wanted you to die admitting you were a liar of the worst caliber, an anarchic demon hellbent on destroying society… and then, I received my revelation that you were just another conman, undeserving of special treatment in the slightest. Perhaps, in your final hour, you can find someway to convince your peers that somehow, your meager time spent raving like a madman was worth all that you have put them, Susie, and Candace through. I would love to hear even an attempt at such deception, as I do appreciate a good yarn, but I have a schedule to keep."

"For those of you who are so numb, drugged, or otherwise mentally deficient enough to not have heard the long version, here is my summation: You chose the wrong side. Now you pay for it. Oh, one last tidbit for those of you still clinging to hope- the sensors will detect and detonate the bombs if you so much as receive a call on your phones."

The dvd ended there.

"Sensors and bombs are primed. Let's roll."

Keeping their guns trained on the mass of students and teachers, the terrorists filed out of the building through the main door, until there was only the man holding down Calvin left.

"You know, when I was on the police force, we had a… retirement plan for cops who fucked up. One pistol, one round. Quick and painless. Didn't matter what you'd done, the sentiment was you at least deserved a quick way out if you had the balls."

"You, on the other hand, are a sorry, scrawny, son of a bitch liar. So here."

Something smacked against his head. Probably a single bullet.

He left chuckling as if he had played the greatest joke in the history of man.

Calvin lay there for a full minute, expecting a mob of students to rush over and begin beating him to death. It would have been, considering his situation, merciful.

But no one so much as advanced. They just gave him angry glares, wept over the dead, or sat numbly, shocked.

So this was how it would end.

Handcuffed, lying on the floor in a room full of people who hated him for a legitimate reason. Helpless. Highweller wasn't even going to give him the dignity of dying as a victim- with as little evidence as the bombs would leave, the story Highweller would no doubt feed the media about how Calvin had blown up the school would go unchallenged.

Every good thing he'd done, undone. All the struggling Susie had given to not break down, to assert her innocence, meaningless. The risk Candace had taken to aid her friend had come back to haunt her in the most horrific way possible.

He struggled to stand, whether to apologize or plead for forgiveness he was unsure.

That was when he saw what the guard had thrown at him.

The transmogrifier pistol.


	6. Error

The Trial Of Susie Derkins

Chapter VI: Error

…

"_So many times growing up, the excuse given for why certain things were forbidden was because they were demonic. Movies that were not about glorifying God were demonic. Comics and novels, especially the likes of Harry Potter and Twilight were demonic because they did not adhere to the idea that all non-God supernatural events were inherently satanic. Even before the beatings began, the catch-all term for why something was forbidden was that it was demonic, so suffused with unholy power that my very proximity to it would endanger my soul."_

"_It is by fear that the dictators rule. In my parents' case, they used the fear that anything that was not 100% advocated by their interpretation of the bible was capable of damning a child to hell. That demons were everywhere, and that if it wasn't "Godly", it was likely sent by Satan himself to tempt children like me into a lifestyle of hedonistic self-destruction."_

"_Then for four years I was both witness and victim to a systematic attempt to inflict Stockholm Syndrome on children as young as three, with a regimen of hair or no trigger punishments and constant derision, all motivated by my father's fictional tales of how my rebellion was straining his sanity, and he only wished to spare other families the horror he and his wife- my mother- had experienced. For four years, my father based an entire church congregation on a series of false justifications for his abuses of me, advocating to other parents that they should do the same before it was too late for them, which culminated in the deaths of 44 of the 50 children his church, at his advice, handed over to the terrorist organization known as Rod and Whip for the express purpose of even more intense abuse."_

"_My point is this: for the purposes of 'scaring straight' the future generations, tales of what malevolence might be lurking in the shadows pale in comparison to what evils proudly march bearing the light."_

-Journals of Faith X, "Demons at the Pulpit."

…

Calvin almost laughed.

What was most certainly meant as a final act of mockery was going to be his salvation. To humiliate him further, the guard had, in place of the pistol and single round he had espoused on, thrown him the transmogrifier pistol.

The fool had just condemned him and the rest of Highweller's cult to an agonizing death; that he was certain of.

Now came the trick of convincing a room full of despondent, bitter students who were struggling to come to grips with the idea they were all going to die due to a senile judge's whims.

The gun could perform miracles, but the miracles had to be plausible. Believable.

He tested the waters. "Hey, man." He addressed a student who lay slumped against a chair, face in hands. "You got a paperclip or anything?"

The boy, a brunette spindly thing in a sweatshirt and jeans, gave him an incredulous look. "Why in the fuck would you want-"

"I need to get these cuffs off. I think I can disarm the bomb."

Something resembling hope flickered in the boy's eyes, and a desperate search turned up a horribly mangled clip. "It's bent-"

"Perfect." Calvin stood, letting the gun he held behind his back drop after having squeezed it once. He turned. "Can you see the hole the key is supposed to go into? Bend it so it goes in there."

The boy hurriedly obliged, and within seconds, the cuffs came off with a clatter.

With one squeeze of the trigger, Calvin had made the suggestion to reality that the cuffs weren't the best quality, and that anyone with a sharp bit of wire could potentially unlock them. It was a minor feat at best.

Now came the hard part.

"So how do we defuse it?" The spindly boy asked, getting heads turned. Good. He needed their attention.

"That boy Jason Fox? From the Rod and Whip thing? He showed me how to do it with this." He held up the squirtgun. It wasn't entirely a lie- Calvin had used the gun when, after he had made a statement over a PA system how an expert bomb disposal agent was inside the facility, Jason had reacted to the false hope with a destructive rampage, smashing equipment and providing enough of a incident that the suggestion that he somehow accidentally shut down the self-destruct sequence.

Jason was no doubt going to be increasingly confused when word about this got out.

"I need some water, so if anyone has a bottle with-"

"Stop it."

Heads turned to the source- Mr. Heighs, head slumped forward, hands in lap, not even bothering to look at Calvin.

"Just stop it, okay? We've all had enough false hope."

For once, Calvin had to concede Heighs' position. He had tried to save Susie and was shot for it, then he comes back to a bombing. The man was no doubt convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt he was living in a world that actively punished altruism and hope.

In any other circumstances Calvin would be sympathetic enough to allow him his self-pity without interfering, but the teachers and students who had been callously mowed down as an example deserved justice.

"Look. I know this is bad, but we don't know how much time we have until he detonates-"

"Then for God's sake, let us have that time to make peace with ourselves." Heighs pleaded. "I don't blame you for what happened. No one should. But please, if there's any hope of the bombs being defused, it's the police-"

"-who will be blown up with us. Highweller probably planned for that." Calvin interjected.

Heighs turned uncomfortably to stare at him. "…and you think you can do what they can't?"

Calvin felt the eyes of the survivors bore into. "I know I have a better chance at getting us out alive than they do. Highweller's probably got the police watched, and will detonate the bombs if they get near here." It wasn't a fact, just speculation, but he needed the trust of the majority.

"If we don't find a way out, Susie and Candace are dead." Calvin finished.

Heighs paused. "We'll put it to a vote, then."

Getting the majority of the panicked survivors to believe there was a potential chance Calvin could get them out of this alive was the lynchpin of the plan. Calvin made a show of it out of necessity, making them believe he was doing some secret trick Jason Fox had taught him for defusing bombs, filling his transmogrifier gun with water and giving what to the untrained eyes looked like a test squeeze.

In reality, Calvin had ordered reality to shut the sensors down cold.

"You're seriously going to do this." A student asked, incredulous. "With a fucking fifty cent squirtgun?"

Calvin nodded. "Why else would I carry one around?"

That answer, along with his reputation, calmed the student and several others who were clearly nervous. He acted as if it were a nerve-wracking ordeal, using a paperclip to unscrew something here, jabbing a wire there, squirting and refilling several times, but the truth was the moment more than half the hands in the auditorium had gone up in favor of letting Calvin gamble with their lives, the bombs were no longer a threat. The rest was showmanship to make it believable.

The bombs were some sort of homemade explosive coupled with ball bearings and crushed glass, extra-large pipe bombs. "Defusing" them took Calvin a little over half-an-hour. Calvin surmised Highweller would want his crew to put as much distance between them and the school as possible before detonating the bombs.

When he demonstrated the bombs were harmless by walking out the door unscathed, the reactions were mixed. Some cheered and ran out shouting. Others, who had lost friends and respected teachers, moved the bodies as respectfully as they could. Phone calls were made, and sirens filled the air.

Before all of this, Calvin had hesitated in using the gun, thinking it wrong to play God. But here was Highweller, deciding himself above the law and morality, killing anyone who so much as cast a shadow of doubt on his ranting, deciding who was righteous and who was damned on so much whim.

If Highweller wanted a devil to fight, then Calvin would make sure he wasn't disappointed.

…

Betty Halgins ran her errands as usual, trying to take whatever relaxation comparing grocery prices would allow her.

A few months ago, she had expected the most traumatic thing she would suffer would be Calvin finding new ways to weaponize water balloons over the summer after he had pulled off a passing average in all his classes for the school year.

In those few months, her sense of normalcy had been eradicated. When he was six, she had ignored claims by her son that there were adults out there willing to dedicate exorbitant amounts of money and energy to ensuring kids suffer, dismissing such ideas as childish victim-complexes. Now, in the name of some twisted form of discipline, maniacs seemingly straight out of Calvin's wildest nightmares were waging a war against children, and for the first half of the school year they had to deal with two judges hell-bent on dragging Susie's name through the mud and trying to kill Calvin when he helped her fight back.

The next school board meeting was in three days, and both she and Derrick had a long list of choice words to say about how things had been handled in the wake of Spittle's departure.

Her cell phone rang, and when she saw the ID as Calvin's school, her gut tied itself into knots.

She took the call and asked a question she already knew the answer to. "Honey, are you ok?"

And in a few short sentences, Calvin proceeded to explain how not okay things were.

…

Gary knew his job was important. Lord Highweller himself had explicitly told him how direly crucial it was he play his role perfectly.

Against all temptation, against what he had up until now been taught was common sense, Gary was to simply make sure the bound Whore of Babylon did not escape, and was not to blow her head off.

And so Gary Barker, a 42 year old with a useless degree in liberal arts, found his purpose in life keeping the uzi trained on Susie Derkins, hands and legs cuffed, looking morose.

She was not even to be beaten. It had to make sure that she was accepting her punishment willingly, to break the morale of her armies of rebellious teens and children.

Yet until now, Gary had never understood how difficult it could be to not shoot or hit someone.

How many times had Lord Highweller preached that she must die? Ever since word of her charity scam had come to them, the weekly sermons were naught but explaining in extraordinary detail how Susie Derkins, the concubine of hell made flesh, was a key player in Satan's scheme to bring the righteous to their knees. That in order to prevent the rebellious legions of scheming brats from ruling the streets, she must be broken in reputation and then body.

She looked up at him. "What are you trying to prove by doing this?" she asked. There was no malice in the words, no matter how hard Gary searched. All that was there was incredible sadness and disappointment.

"We are going to prove you are a fake." Gary retorted. "That your actions were nothing more than a charade."

"How was it fake? Was the food fake? Or the clothes? Is it such a bad idea that my example to others was to spend money on helping the homeless instead of the things you accuse kids of, like drugs and weapons?"

Gary steeled himself even as the words pierced him. Lord Highweller had warned him over and over about this: that her words were poisoned honey, fake pleas that took the word of God and twisted them into all-too convincing snares that led righteous men like him astray.

"I admit I'm not as preachy as Highweller or other people, but the homeless didn't **need** preaching at, they needed food and clothes. I still admitted to the press I did it because I felt God called me to." She looked at him, dead in the eyes, and Gary forced himself to turn away.

"If I am the Whore of Babylon, if I am truly evil… then why would I have done that? If a house is divided against itself, it cannot stand."

Twisting scripture. Weaving lies. Good God almighty, Satan had sent his best.

"It's all a cover up-"

"For what?!" Susie demanded. "If you believe it is for something I did in the past, then am I not allowed to repent and atone? If it is for public sympathy, or to justify a future crime, then _what have I done?_"

Gary paused. The idea of forgiveness was inexorably part of God's will, that much he was certain of, yet Lord Highweller never spoke on that, only punishment. He had followed the news about Susie- what member of Highweller's flock hadn't? After the charity drive ended, Susie for all intents and purposes dropped out of the limelight save for someone offhandedly bringing her up.

If it was a cover-up, or to get future sympathy, wouldn't the smart thing to do be to play it up?

"I made a small donation. All I got was brief praise. Then I went back to being a student. Highweller is the one making all the noise, ordering adults to shoot children, and **planting bombs.**"

For a second, one critical moment, Gary questioned Highweller's actions. How many of the students gunned down were truly soldiers of Satan, and how many were just unlucky enough to be in the line of fire?

What good would the bombs accomplish? The idea was to discredit Calvin as a ranting lunatic turned murderer, but all Calvin had preached was that what happened to Susie was wrong. Bombing the entire school as a smear campaign was overkill in every sense of the word.

Then clarity struck him, and his mind snapped back into focus with a sudden shock at what had happened: **this** was exactly what Lord Highweller had warned him about.

He had never thought about such things before, because he had been among the faithful. Now here he was, standing before Lucifer's right hand woman, subject to the full brunt of whatever unholy power she possessed.

He leveled his weapon at her, hands trembling.

She said something else, but he hummed, as loudly as he could, "Onward Christian Soldiers". Gary was determined not to be another victim.

God would understand, once all was said and done, that they had done only what was absolutely necessary.

…

"_This will not be a clean job. There will be blood. There will be police. And you can bet every cent you own that when we take on the queen of one of Satan's hives, every soldier who pays homage to the whore will be bearing down on us."_

"_I will not lie to you. Not everyone who has to die is a direct minion of Satan. There will be 'less-than-guilty' causalities. Collateral damage to personnel and property is inevitable during times of war, and believe you me, we are at war."_

"_They will mourn the children as innocents. I can assure you, with every year of my career in law, that there are none truly innocent in those schools. The children of the day are divided into two distinct groups- the ones who have committed crimes, and the ones awaiting the opportunity to do so."_

"_I want you to think of our country as a body. It was born on virtues of Godly righteousness. Our ancestors were strong, proud, unrelenting servants of God. Now, there are cancers plaguing our nation, and Verdant Junior High is one of them, a massive cyst releasing toxins disguised as students into the world, and if left untreated the entire city of Newden will fester and spread rebellion like dead, rotten flesh. Therefore, to prevent such a catastrophe, we must take measures that would normally be considered overkill."_

"_Do not think of the whore's soldiers as children and teachers. They are pathogens, viruses, and cancers. We are doctors and surgeons, commissioned by God to heal this world festering with sin and rebellion, and it is by his authority that we will cut and burn them out."_

-Speech given by Simon Highweller via internet conference to select groups from the "High Ground" community in Texas.

…

Jeremy Goffels drove slowly.

At first, his payment, Candace Maple, the girl who looked like his last love, had elated him. The van had been icing on the cake.

But now he realized, after getting his revolver from his apartment and a few clothes, that nothing good could ever come of him returning to Newden.

Or Ohio.

So he drove just under the speed limit, made sure not to cut off anyone, drove like his life depended on politeness, because only death, slow and agonizing, would await him if he was pulled over with an unconscious girl in a sack.

At first he had fantasized about life with Candace slowly growing to accept him as a lover and savior who had spared her from death. Now he saw the futility of that idea. She was beautiful, but she was still a brat, determined to ruin and wreck carefully laid plans. All it would take is one misplaced ounce of trust, one phone left accessible, one loose rope, and she would bring down the law on his head.

With a cold, mathematical brutality, Goffels decided he would simply need to use all of her he could at once, and dispose of her immediately afterward. There was simply no other way he was going to survive this.

…only what would he do, now?

Despair gripped him as he realized that he would be considered among the dead, and when his bank accounts began to deplete, the law would get suspicious. Most jobs required several forms of ID and a background check; alarm bells would go off if an employer found out he was supposed to be dead.

He had escaped one hell to find himself in another. He glanced at the revolver he had on the passenger's seat, handle just poking out of the bag of clothes. He had meant for that to be the execution toll for Candace and self defense, not his only means of escaping…

He took a deep breath, relaxing as he calmly approached a toll booth. _It will be all right, _he assured himself.

He would find a way to secure a fake id. He would reinvent himself. He would retire a survivor and a happy man, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it. Wasn't this forced change a blessing, after all? He was stuck in a rut, super to a school full of anarchic brats who were so chaotic that a bombing was necessary- **necessary**- to ensure they didn't burn the nation to the ground.

He was free, finally, in every sense of the word, to do what he wanted.

Idly, as he saw he was third in line, he realized he should make sure the gun was completely out of sight. He felt for it, to tuck it away more thoroughly.

His hand found only clothes. A deluge of conclusions hit him in rapid succession in under a second.

The gun was not in the bag.

The gun had not fallen out.

There was a click.

"Stop the car." The voice was scared, but Jeremy knew the gun was leveled at him.

Okay. This would be simple. The girl was scared, and probably never shot a gun before in her life. He would reach around, take the gun and tell her if she didn't stay quiet and get out of sight, she would die, and he would take things from there, one step at a time.

He whipped his right arm out as he turned and caught nothing.

There was a deafening bang.

As his right shoulder exploded, as Candace bolted out the passenger door, as people got out of their cars, Goffels prayed his injury was fatal.

Then, as he was pulled from his car, his pants damp with urine and his shirt soaked with blood, he laughed hoarsely.

Dead or alive, he was going to hell again, all because of a little girl.

_Someone ought to put a warning label on them._ He dazedly thought as a police car approached.

…

"…_this just in, ladies and gentlemen. Reports have come in that Verdant Junior High was invaded by a small armed forced under an hour ago. Police report multiple injuries and have confirmed several fatalities."_

"_While reports are still unclear what has happened, several witnesses claim that students who escaped claim that Simon Highweller, host of the court reality show "Hang 'em Highweller", was responsible for planning the deaths and attempted bombing of the school."_

"_Two students have been confirmed as having been abducted, Susie Derkins, recently having been acquitted of several charges during a retrial, and Candace Maple, a friend of Derkins. Witnesses claim that Jeremy Goffels, superintendent and interim principal of Verdant, was responsible for the abduction of Candace, police are…"_

"…_there's been a development, Candace Maple and Goffels have been found at a toll booth near Newden City limits…"_

-Report from Channel 21 News.

…

Highweller allowed himself a third glass of wine, but that would be it, he promised himself.

He deserved to celebrate, really.

In one fell swoop, he had secured several important victories. The first was the self-assurance that his community would kill for him. He was relatively certain, of course; no one in their right mind would embark on such drastic measures without being sure of their troops loyalties, but the knowledge that they could effectively carry out orders was satisfying, to say the least.

The bitch who had nearly capsized his endeavors was now the personal sex-toy of Goffels. Knowing him, the girl would be dead in a day or two. Now that he had the incriminating photos, there was no doubt Goffels would put as much distance between him and Ohio as humanly possible. Her death would send a message to any other would-be heroes or heroines- "No one messes with Highweller and escapes unscathed."

Calvin would die in disgrace. Joe Caldern had been instructed to 'search' his room after all was said and done and find plans to blow up the school. That would take care of both the allegations he had made against him personally, and his claims against R.A.W. It was a shame such a group of well-intending individuals was laid low by one bastard, but hopefully his death would give them some small consolation.

The last was the most important of all.

The "Whore of Babylon" was his.

She would not live long past her confession, that he had decided. The story would be that she had ran away in shame. Doubtless the dimwitted public would be dissatisfied with that explanation, but given a year or so, her death would be forgotten by everyone who mattered.

There would be much to do after this was done. Cleaning up, making bribes, assigning new roles to his followers, and getting his caseload refilled. His show had been reduced to reruns while he took care of this business, a shameful necessity.

There would be outcries from everyone. Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Shinto, Hindu, Atheist… the word of Susie Derkins, an altruistic young girl the victim of a vicious smear campaign, had spread like wildfire, and her disappearance and renouncing of her actions would only fan the flames. Much of his time would be devoted, no doubt to dousing this fire, but at least he would see his chief detractor struck down.

He drained the last drops of red from his glass, and examined himself in the mirror. Judges robes for a hearing over the internet to a defendant he already had determined to be guilty might seem pretentious, but he wanted his final message to Susie Derkins to be clear- she had been judged, and had been found severely lacking.

If all went well, the team would be arriving soon at his courthouse within the next day. The trial would proceed, he would state the terms to her: she would confess to whatever they wished and accept punishment in return for the well-being of her fellow students. That Verdant was smoldering by now was not to be mentioned until right until she was executed- the bombs had gone off an hour ago, reducing the school's auditorium and all within to rubble. He still wished for her last thoughts, however, to be that her sacrifice and self-shaming had been for absolutely nothing, right before she went to hell…

It would be a fitting punishment for her, someone who had tried to tear down all he'd strived to build up.

…

Moe congratulated himself as he jammed the barrel of his uzi into Susie's back as she was led out of the van and onto the forest floor.

From prisoner to mercenary with a kickass weapon. Talk about a promotion.

They began walking briskly through a wooded trail as he contemplated what had happened. Calvin left for dead, watching helplessly as bombs ticked down. He would have preferred his death slower, more agonizing, but him being vilified as a suicidal murderer was satisfying enough.

Life would be different, now. There was no going back, but back to what? A town that hated him? A school that despised him? People who didn't give him or his dad the respect they deserved?

If they weren't going to know their place, they could all burn for all he cared.

They soon came upon a new set of vehicles. Several of the men and women broke off and headed back to the original van and cars.

Moe understood then that Highweller was a pro. This was not going to be a simple kidnapping, this was going to be like those spy movies where someone vanished off the face of the earth. Even if someone knew the description of the vehicle Susie got into, the trail would stop there.

So that was two things Highweller had going for him. An awesome plan, and lots of guns. The whole "killing Calvin" thing was icing on the cake.

Susie was urged into the van with a butt from an uzi. "You." The uzi-wielder pointed to Moe. "Keep an eye on her. Don't listen to her, don't talk to her, don't make eye contact, just make sure she doesn't escape."

And for the first time in his life, feeling like a professional mercenary, Moe replied with great zeal and respect.

"Yes sir!"

…

Calvin dreaded talking to Susie's father, even under normal circumstances.

Once, as a kid, after he had hit her with a water balloon, Andrew had insinuated, quite calmly, quite politely, that the army had taught him certain things, like how to make someone's death look like an accident. How to make a body disappear.

And that grown men could be reduced to such a state they would ask to be shot rather than live a second longer.

Calvin had spent the rest of that day hiding in the closet and praying to God that the man was content with scaring the shit out of him. That was over a water balloon. Andrew Derkins was calm and collected.

It was very evident now, even though it was explicitly, unequivocally, in no way or fashion his fault that Susie was abducted, that Andrew was not calm. He was not screaming. He was not shaking Calvin or slamming his fist into walls. But every movement was so restrained, so checked that Calvin knew the moment he found the first person remotely at fault for his daughter's disappearance, death would at best be inescapable.

"Where is she?" The words ground out of him, as he looked Calvin in the eyes, trying incredibly hard not to let the maelstrom in him explode.

Calvin very rapidly considered his response. "Highweller had Moe and Joe Caldern take her. I don't know where they went."

Andrew twitched as if shocked. The man looked ready to go insane, and Calvin, as horrified and as beside himself with worry as he was for Susie and Candace, did not want to find out what happened when a man like Andrew, who talked playfully about trading taser shocks in Iraq with fellow soldiers as a means to pass the time, lost control.

The man eventually nodded, staggering off, moving mechanically.

Calvin was only marginally aware of his mother arriving, hugging him painfully, pulling him through the throng to their car, as reporters, parents, and police asked questions in a cacophonic deluge of babble.

"Mr. Calvin, do you believe this was-"

"Calvin was this attack related to the Grindstone incident?"

"Calvin, where's my kid? Did you see him?"

"You rotten little fuck, they came because of **you**-"

"Son, did you see-"

"Miss Halgins how long-"

"-Grindstone-"

"-will you write-"

"-how do you feel-"

"-do you feel responsible-"

_stop_

"Son I just need you-"

"-just a few quick questions-"

"-I saw him first goddammit-"

"-why is-"

"-my baby where's my baby-"

_please stop_

"-your fault for antagonizing-"

"-are you planning-"

"-were you and Susie sexually active-"

"-just a few seconds please-"

"-you did this you bastard-"

"-tell us about the noodle incident-"

"-were you and Candace close-"

And for a brief moment of insane desperation, Calvin considered detonating the bombs with the Transmogrifier pistol, making the earth split open, something, _anything_ to make the deluge of accusations and _idiocy _stop…

…and then he was in the car, and the doors muffled the noise to a dull murmur.

It hit him then that those who lost children or spouses weren't going to understand that he hadn't pulled the trigger. There would be no concern over those he saved, only those he didn't.

He was no savior to those who had lost loved ones, just a big-mouthed, over confident idiot who had brought down a terrorist attack on innocent bystanders by sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

"_You're poison." _Deetra's words came back to him, haunting echoes that had once sounded completely insane. _"You're poison to everyone."_

The gun was worthless. He didn't even know where to start looking for Susie or Candace. There were at least ten more kids dead.

He had won the battle, but lost the war, and now Candace, Susie, and everyone who had rallied behind her would pay the price.

…

"_Some ask me how I can still pray."_

"_There are those, yes, even Christians, who ask me how I can retain faith after having been through such things, and having heard of others suffer much worse."_

"_It is because I believe these horrible cruelties the result of religion, not faith. My father and the people of Grindstone may use snippets and quotes from the Bible to justify their actions, but they have created a cult religion all their own, one in which they worship the graven gods of torture instruments and praise the ideals of child abuse."_

"_I will say this. I believe God is good. I believe this was my father's doing, and not his. I believe that His word has been twisted by those who would abuse it to further their own ends."_

"_And I would caution all of you to be careful not to do likewise, to not use God's name in vain to further your own selfish ideas."_

"_Because above all else, I believe these people, who dare to use God's name to justify their horrific actions, will answer to an authority whose knowledge is supreme, whose power is infinite, and whose judgement is swift and terrible beyond all comparison. 'Do not be deceived, God is not mocked, for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap.'"_

-Faith X, answering a question on why she had not renounced her faith.

…

Susie was, despite the unreality of it all, amazed she found it in her to sleep during the nonstop trip to… wherever they were going.

It was not a comfortable sleep, trying to doze with her hands cuffed behind her back and at gunpoint, but somehow she had managed to get a few hours rest.

She woke up to three guns leveled at her face by three men at least twice her age.

Shoved out of the van, she realized where they were- a courthouse. Around them was a throng of people, gathered in the early morning light, shouting, cheering, and screaming.

Then they saw her, and the voices began to chant in unison.

"DEATH TO THE WHORE OF BABYLON!"

She was nudged forward with a gun barrel at her back, towards the courthouse steps.

There, at the top, was Judge Highweller, clad in judge's robe and wearing a smile fit for a serial killer.

The fact she was starved and needed five more hours of sleep made no difference to her captors as they jabbed at her back and slapped her head to make her jog up the stairs to where Highweller was.

When she reached the top, Highweller grabbed a fistful of her hair.

She knew the punch was coming, all she could do was clench her teeth and brace for the pain.

It felt like someone had swung a brick into her face, and she stumbled, falling as Highweller let go of her. Several more impacts slammed into her stomach and ribs as Highweller stomped and kicked her, and she could only roll as best she could with every blow.

Finally, the barrage ceased, and dimly, she could hear the crowd cheering wildly.

"Welcome to Highground, Harlot." Highweller sneered.

…

Nothing his mother, father, or Hobbes said consoled Calvin at all.

He slept fitfully through the night, wakening with starts when he dreamed of Susie dying horribly, of Candace's corpse, of hundreds of children pointing at him, chanting something he couldn't understand…

…no, he just didn't want to understand. That he had failed them. There was nothing else it could have been.

Now he lay there, in bed, unsure of what to do next. An obvious choice was to kill himself. That meant conceding defeat to RAW and Highweller, but hadn't Highweller already won? A school full of teachers and students was still just their word against his- Highweller wasn't at the school. It would damage his reputation, sure, but Highweller had gotten rid of Susie and Candace by now, sending a clear message to anyone who supported Susie or wanted to emulate her: "You and your friends will pay."

It still made no sense.

If Highweller wanted kids to be more obedient, then wouldn't Susie be the exemplar of what he wanted to accomplish? Why didn't Highweller go after him or Moe?

It was an old question, and now, lying in bed, considering the least painful way to die, he found the answer.

Highweller never wanted to make children more obedient. He just wanted to keep blaming them, punishing them, using them as a scapegoat for all the ills of society.

Worse yet, Calvin had determined he wasn't affiliated with RAW. RAW would have made sure to kill him immediately and as many other students as possible, then set the bombs.

He, and his followers, were an entirely different group of people devoted to the sole idea of destroying Susie Derkins and anyone they perceived as her 'army'. Two groups of people willing to wage total war against kids.

Could anyone blame him for not wanting to live on this planet anymore?

A knock, urgent and rapid, was at his door. "Calvin, Candace has been found…"

That got him up, rushing to the door, still wearing the same clothes he had yesterday. "Is she okay? Is Susie with her? Is Susie okay?"

"No, Susie wasn't with her," his mother answered. "but Candace is fine, and you need to see this, it's Susie…"

Three seconds later he was in front of the tv with his parents.

"Today, on a special episode of Hang 'em Highweller," boomed a dramatic announcer as Susie Derkins, one eye blackened, was led in handcuffs to a podium, "scam artist Susie Derkins confesses to her deception of the city of Newden and her fellow classmates, resulting in Calvin Halgins' suicide attack on Verdant High. With an almost open and shut case, how will Judge Highweller rule on this thoughtless lying spree that has cost so many lives?"

The camera panned to Highweller, holding his chin in thought as he examined some papers at his seat.

"Find out today on 'Hang 'em Highweller!'"

Calvin stared for a few seconds before chuckling, prompting worried stares from his parents.

"You… you pompus fuck." He giggled, as he staggered up the stairs, mind racing. "You pompus, stupid, dumbassed, can't-find-your-ass-with-both-hands poor fuck!"

It was idiocy. Idiocy mixed with stupidity.

Highweller had arranged to try her in his courtroom, in his own community in Texas, without even bothering to check to see if his bombs had actually gone off.

And suddenly, Calvin found himself **happy** Highweller was completely unrelated to RAW. Because that meant instead of dealing with a mouthpiece for a larger organization, all he had to deal with now was a senile, self-exalting idiot who thought himself so above the law that he could gloat about it on national television.

Hobbes must have noticed him smiling when he came in, because he perked up. "What happened? Did Highweller have a heart attack?"

"No." Calvin said as he retrieved the toy rifle he had used months before to defend himself. "Wanna go fix that?"

…

Highweller had Susie Derkins in his courtroom, standing on exhausted legs, had blacked her eye to cheers, had her on trial for her crimes against him and by extension the law itself.

"Now, before we go live, I want you to understand. You will not defend yourself, verbally or physically, or your armies die. Do you understand, Whore of Babylon?"

Susie looked down at the floor. "Yes, sir." She said quietly.

Highweller looked to Moe, who obligingly swung a nightstick into her back. "LOUDER!" Moe screamed at her.

"Yes, sir!" Susie gasped.

Highweller grinned at the sight of his hated enemy broken. He shuffled his papers, prepared to give the signal to go on air. Soon the world would hear about how Susie's vanity and lying had driven Calvin to insanity and murder, resulting in the deaths of…

He paused.

Hundreds? Thousands? Tens? He needed to be somewhere in the ballpark.

He motioned to one woman, who approached. "I need the death toll on the Newden Verdant High bombing, stat."

She nodded and pulled out her cell phone.

A minor detail, but a necessary one. Highweller could not afford to look like an idiot here, now, by getting facts wrong. There would be investigations, doubtless, but he wanted the trial to look professional, as if Susie had come to him, confessed, apologized, and fled in disgrace.

A minute passed. Highweller organized his papers. They would seem to the viewers as legal documents, but in reality, Highweller had laid his speech out for ease of recital, a damning condemnation of Susie Derkins and the city of Newden for blindly cheering her on.

Two minutes. Maybe her connection was slow. He took a sip of water, rehearsed the flow of the show in his head. The forced confession. Making her explain the 'details' of her deception he had fed her beforehand. His speech. Her punishment, a public flogging. He had intended to make her be flogged in the nude, but that would simply have the public condemn him as a pedophile. It would have to be a severe caning, then, with clothes on, but the pain and shame it would inflict would be sufficient for his purposes…

The woman approached him, and for a moment he felt ready to begin, when he noticed the look of terror on her face.

"Well, how many dead?" he demanded.

"Just… just nineteen, sir." She stammered.

His shock must have shown in his face, because the courtroom's spectators became deathly quiet.

"What do you mean, only nineteen?" He hissed in a whisper, grabbing the phone. He would have thought with everything else having gone smoothly, retrieving a single statistic would have been no problem…

Then he saw the news article the woman had on her smartphone.

"ATTEMPTED BOMBING AT VERDANT JUNIOR HIGH PREVENTED BY CALVIN HALGINS"

Highweller began to cough as his internal organ seemingly bundled together in knots, desperately downing, with a fitful effort, a glass of water.

They had aired the intro already. People knew he had Susie Derkins. That he had her on trial for her involvement in a bombing that never happened.

There was also the none-too-insignificant matter of the auditorium full of students who weren't killed who he had lectured on why they were going to die, and how he was going to blame Calvin.

It would be a very short time, relatively speaking, before the law, army, or both showed up to deal with him.

His forces were trained enough to handle a school full of unarmed teachers and children. Against trained, armed combatants, they stood little chance.

Very quickly he made several decisions. "We… we will need to delay the trial for an hour or two." He managed to get out after several attempts.

Groans and whispers were silenced with a rapid smacking of his gavel. "I **will** have order in this courtroom! You six," he motioned to two men, two women, and the Calderns, "guard Susie Derkins until I return. The rest of you, follow me."

To what passed for relief, his orders went unquestioned, at least openly.

He did not know how Calvin had defused the bombs. Perhaps he was the agent of Satan instead of Susie. Perhaps he had some sort of special training. The 'hows' did not matter now.

What mattered to Highweller, at that moment in time, was how much distance he could put between him and what would soon be the smoldering remains of Highground.

…

_ATTN: All Enforcer Class Citizens of Highground._

_Evacuation Code Alpha-4_

_No alert to non-enforcers._

_Effective immediately._

-Text sent to select citizens of Highground

…

There were things that Gary never wanted to see or hear.

For example, the president of the United States addressing the nation that they were now under foreign control. Every pastor in the world simultaneously renouncing their belief in God.

But above all else, he never wanted to see what he saw now on his cell phone, a command for an alpha-4 evac.

Alpha 4 meant multiple things, none of which were good. It meant that not only had things fallen beyond salvage, but massive retaliation was incoming, beyond their defensive capabilities.

It meant that the enforcer class of Highground, those trusted to fight to the death for Highweller, were to leave quickly and quietly to an evacuation point miles from Highground, and not tell a soul. Those not deemed absolutely necessary to Highweller's personal protection were to be considered expendable.

It meant that as of right now, Gary's life as a proud member of the child-free community of Highground was over.

And yet, it was not the idea that he was expected to leave his home, belongings, and friends to burn that irked Gary. It was not the fact that he was a fugitive, on the run from a vengeful enemy- likely the law they sought to aid, or the army of their own nation- that made him resentful.

No, what got to him was that he noticed that the Whore of Babylon, the target they had risked everything to capture, was being made to stay put for whatever agent of vengeance was coming to save or kill. No trial. No breaking of the whore's army. Just a brief text telling him everything was completely fucked.

And for the first moment, as he got into his car with only his wallet and a handgun to his name, Gary wondered just how much Highweller really valued his community if he was willing to leave more than half of them to die.

…

Being in the army meant you knew people, Andrew Derkins learned.

The sort of people you learned to communicate with mere hand signals. Who had your back when you were trying to patch wounds in the middle of a gunfight or when you were trying to pick off an enemy sniper. The sort of people who would hold long, jovial conversations about the ways they fantasized about killing their drill sergeant in boot camp, and whether or not any of them would actually work.

The sort of people who, when they learned about your daughter missing, and that some asswipe of a judge had her, could and would call up several helicopters and reserve troops to reduce him to a red smear.

Provided, of course, Andrew didn't get there first.

It was a bit melodramatic, flying to his daughter's rescue in a military chopper, clad in fatigues and wielding his trusted M16A2 rifle, but the moment Andrew saw the black eye on his daughter's face, he had decided that Highweller's death would be a very slow, delicate affair.

Because Andrew also knew people who had taught him how to make people willing to talk. Beg to talk. Beg for him to stop doing things he technically wasn't supposed to do with a car battery and a few paperclips. In a few months, Andrew had learned how to reduce a hardened terrorist who spat curses and threatened to kill family members into a sobbing heap of pain and involuntary spasms, begging for the single bullet that would end their life.

Even though the man was prone to try and make examples out of the defendant minors that had the misfortune to find themselves in his court, Andrew was fairly certain Simon Highweller would not appreciate the skill and finesse that would go into making an example out of him.

That was fine with him. One of the first things the army had taught him was to tolerate being unappreciated. Andrew didn't want appreciation, he just wanted a few reasonable things.

His daughter home safe and sound, and everyone responsible for her capture dead or begging to die.

…

Calvin knew the light particle trick would be draining. That part was solvable with a few packed energy bars and energy drinks.

He also knew he'd encounter resistance. Between his morphed rifle and the transmogrifier, he felt prepared. The fact he had Hobbes along to sniff out enemies before they saw him helped- Hobbes couldn't fight due to the lack of belief that a tiger could be here, in Texas, and hungry for their flesh, but he could at least serve as a spotter.

He was behind the courthouse, downing one energy drink, to overcome the wooziness that came with the light particle use of the gun. By himself, it was draining enough. Carrying all the gear and Hobbes demanded more energy.

It was then that he heard cars driving off. "Hobbes, they're moving. Is Susie-"

Hobbes sniffed the air. "…she's still here."

Odd. Calvin thought that Susie's captivity would be the highest priority for Highweller, if he hadn't executed her already. Maybe he had caught wind of how things hadn't panned out and ran.

There would be time to focus on killing him later, what mattered now was Susie Derkins returning safe and sound.

Staring at the empty can of energy drink, he got an idea, taking out the transmogrifier pistol to turn it into a silencer for the .32 rifle he carried. He had no idea if suppressors actually existed for hunting rifles, but no one else besides him or Hobbes was around and in sight to 'argue the point', and so with a squeeze and a few movements of his wrist, the rifle became, at least in theory, quieter.

It was time to show the few remaining fools at Highground what a true menace to society was capable of.

…

Moe felt uneasy.

Who could blame him? The courtroom had gone from filled with eager people ready to watch Susie's life fall apart to half the original amount, now nervous and uncertain as Highweller had seemingly disappeared.

Worst of all, he needed to pee. There had been no rest stops on their journey to Texas, and the trip had been just as debilitating for him as it had been for Susie.

"Where's the restroom?" he asked one man with an assault rifle.

"No one leaves the courtroom until we're adjourned." The man lowered his rifle to make sure Moe got the point.

"Look man, I can go there or go here…" he explained, exasperated. There was loyalty and then there was stupidity. He could go without sleep. He could stand for hours. But his bladder demanded a higher priority.

"Fine. Hurry the hell up. Down the hall, to your right."

Moe left in a jog.

The courthouse was vast for such a small town, obviously meant to show Highweller was boss here. Walls dedicated to explaining his past cases on his show. Massive, marble plaques with gold lettering detailing his speeches.

The man had an ego, that was sure.

Finally Moe found the restroom, found a urinal, and audiably hissed with relief as he fulfilled his primary goal for the day: making sure he would not start his new life with urine-soaked jeans. He slung his SMG over his shoulder by the strap- he wasn't a pro at gun maintenance, not yet, but he was certain human waste didn't help.

Footsteps behind him. Didn't anyone have any manners, here? "Hey, there's two others and three stalls, you can stop trying to look at my di-"

**BANG.**

Someone had driven a railroad spike through the back of his left knee. Moe staggered, fell face-first into the urinal, tasting his own piss and the urinal cake.

Screaming with his eyes burning, he fumbled for his weapon, only to feel the barrel of a gun jam into his neck.

He froze. "Okay, okay man, just don't sho-"

Someone, with great effort, grabbed him by the back of the vest he wore, ripped off the smg, and threw him face first into the sink, forcing him to nearly swallow one of his front teeth as he smashed against the counter, leg bent at a horribly wrong angle, turning to see…

There was a God after all, and he was pissed.

Calvin stood there, murderous intent in his eyes, aiming the barrel of a hunting rifle at his head. "Make a noise, and I'll kill you."

Wet warmth filled Moe's pants.

_So much for that first goal._ He thought numbly as Calvin advanced.

…

Joe glanced at his watch, frowning. Highweller was late… assuming he was intending to return at all. Moe had been gone for fifteen minutes.

"So, your kid does know how to use a toilet, right?" The man with an assault rifle asked, clearly annoyed.

"Maybe he had to take a crap, okay?" Joe defended. "Besides, it's not like we're on a time crunch anymore."

The assault rifle man frowned. "Lord Highweller will be back any minute now."

For fifteen minutes more, they waited. Susie braced herself against the defendant's podium, and no one bothered to demand she stand up.

"Where the hell are they?" the assault rifle man asked, finally, exasperation evident in his voice.

"Something went wrong."

Every head in the court turned to look at Susie.

"He's gone."

Joe lifted his shotgun to level at Susie's disturbingly calm face. Several others followed suit.

"He was so eager to get this trial underway, why would he stall now, for so long, unless something didn't go to plan?"

Joe kept the gun trained on her, though his hands grew less and less steady. Too little sleep, too much stress.

"Shoot me, and you make me a martyr and Highweller an accessory to murder."

Several of the Highground communities lowered their weapons ever so slightly.

"Screw this." Joe growled, jamming the barrel into her face. "I'm shutting that damn little whore mouth of yours for good…"

"You can't." Susie retorted, not even looking at him. "You can't, or you'll throw away everything you've worked for. You don't have anything to go back to, Ex-Officer Caldern. No home, no job, and a reputation as a child-mugger and a corrupt cop."

Joe recoiled as what Susie said made sense, horrifying sense. Up until now, he hadn't really grasped just how much of his life was riding on this. If this failed, if the trial did not proceed as planned, if Susie was not ruined and killed according to plan, everything he had put on the line was lost. His future, his freedom, his life.

"And you people," Susie said, the contempt bleeding through what was an attempt at a calm voice, as she addressed the others. "…paralyzed. Without "Lord Highweller", you won't do anything on your own, all for the sake of avoiding the risk of being his next target. You won't shoot me. You won't hit me. You won't run. You have followed a fake prophet to hold a fake trial for fake reasons."

How could she be so calm? Didn't she realize that the guns were real? That these people had no problem murdering children? That once this was over she was as good as dead?

Joe looked around him, aghast. People were unnerved, formerly bold, fearless warriors cowed into submission by what amounted to a dressing-down from a handcuffed, black-eyed schoolgirl.

"Drop your guns and run. That is the only way you'll get out of this alive."

"Fuck you, Whore of Babylon!" The assault rifle man leveled his gun shakily at her.

"You'll see. Highweller will come back any second now, and the world will see you for the lying little bitch that you are, and-"

The lights went out. With no windows into the courtroom, the room was pitch black.

"Damn it." Joe muttered. "Someone get a flashlight-"

"Jeane, you have that flashlight still right?" Someone called out in the darkness.

"Hold on… it's… it's not working." Came a frustrated female reply.

"For God's sakes, no one has a cigarette lighter?"

There was shuffling and stumbling as the remaining adults shoved and fumbled their way through the dark. "Okay, hang on, I've got an app for my cell that makes a light-"

"Stop doing the tech speak and get us some goddamn light already!" Joe shouted.

The camera light flared to life, providing sufficient illumination to allow all assembled to see that Susie Derkins had disappeared.

In her place was Moe, bleeding profusely from his leg, bound and gagged with a urinal cake and duct tape.

…

Susie Derkins had a lot of questions the moment Calvin clamped a hand over her mouth, picked off her cuffs, and guided her hastily out of the courtroom.

_What the hell is going on?_ That was the foremost, but that was easily answered by her own self-explanation of _People have gone completely insane._

_How did you get here? _Another reasonable question, but she chose to remain silent in case it was some sort of self-delusional hallucination, and she was really back at the podium on trial.

The one question she could not suppress was thusly.

"Candace-"

"Alive. _Run._" Was Calvin's reply.

She needed five more hours of sleep, a bathroom break, and she'd missed two meals, but somehow Susie found it in her to keep moving despite the pain and fatigue, the shouts of alarm from behind them giving her ample motivation to keep running.

Calvin stopped, knelt, and fired several rounds before jogging back to meet with Susie.

Was this how he had handled storming the Grindstone camp? Coolly and methodically picking off enemies, arranging blackouts, leaving his enemies in complete chaos?

At any other point in her life previously, leaving any amount of decision-making up to Calvin, to whom reality and imagination were interchangeable, was a recipe for disaster. Now, she prayed that Calvin had some semblance of a plan that ended with them escaping with their lives.

…

Peter Nerrol had checked his assault rifle, a M4A1 purchased off the black market, several times before and during the raid on Verdant Junior High.

At all times it was in working order. Hell, he had mowed down nine people with it. It was like him- reliable, efficient, and merciless.

So when he leveled it at the fleeing backs of Susie and her ally, set the gun to full auto, and squeezed the trigger with the intent of sending a hail of scorching metal after them to flay them alive, he was surprised to feel not the deafening bangs and recoil that came with such an assault, but only a muted _twung._

There was no time to check what had gone wrong, certainly no time to make repairs, the bottom line was that somewhere along the way, something had broken or moved out of place, and the gun was now only useful as a conversation piece.

Cursing, he pulled out his sidearm, a .45 Desert Eagle, and gave chase.

"Spread out! Take the girl alive, kill the boy!"

Someone charged past him- Joe Caldern, the new hire, looking pissed as hell. Apparently his primary weapon had failed him too, as he brandished a .32 revolver and fired potshots at the retreating pair.

"CALVIN YOU SON OF A WHORE-"

Calvin?

As in, Calvin Halgins?

That meant that at the very least, Calvin had escaped. Or that the bombs hadn't gone off. That also meant that the kid moved **damn** fast, impossibly fast.

There had been tales about Calvin's involvement in the Grindstone facility raid. Some were practical tales that he was a stupid kid who got incredibly lucky. Others were seemingly ludicrous versions where he stormed the compound, guns blazing.

But now he was seeing the boy in action. They had one man down and gagged with a urinal cake, their hostage taken out from under their noses during an engineered blackout, and now all their best weapons were malfunctioning in unison.

A terrible thought occurred to Peter, as he ran after Joe, who was fumbling to shove more bullets into his gun. That it was not Susie Derkins who was the antichrist or Whore of Babylon at all, or at least not to the degree Highweller had preached.

There was no way a human could move that fast, survive that many attempts on their life, kill that many people.

The devil, in the form of Calvin Halgins, had come to fight them on their home turf.

Joe Caldern slammed his massive body through the courthouse doors, only to jerk and fall, screaming, blood staining his vest.

A few of the men and women helped haul Joe back inside the courthouse as a hail of bullets reduced wood and glass to shrapnel, forcing them to retreat momentarily.

Joe's wounds, it was made clear, weren't immediately fatal, but he was in no condition to fight- two rounds had gone through his left arm, two more had slashed gaping wounds in his chest, a fifth had ripped off his right earlobe.

Something metallic clanked nearby, and one man looked outside briefly before jumping to the floor. "GREN-"

**BOOM.**

Splintered wood and fragments of glass tore at them like a demonic sandstorm, sending Peter sprawling.

No one had grenades on them, Peter dimly noted as he struggled to stand. They had plenty of firearms, but the only explosives they had were the bombs made to destroy Verdant.

The stories about Calvin barging into the Grindstone facility Rambo-style sounded less and less unrealistic with every passing moment.

…

The can-to-grenade trick had worked. That was a plus.

The drain he felt from causing the blackout and then forcing all of their immediate guns to malfunction was not. Nor was the fact Susie was with him. While saving her was his highest priority, what he could get away with now with the transmogrifier was limited.

They ran from the courthouse, pursued by both the guards who were already in pursuit and the mob waiting outside, and Calvin emptied a clip from the SMG he stole from Moe blindly in an attempt to slow them.

The good news, Calvin saw it, as roars of outrage and fury came closer and closer, was that the majority of the shots had hit. The bad news was that the mob cared nothing for their fallen comrades, trampling over them in a mad fury.

He allowed Susie to run ahead of him, concealing the empty magazine just so that neither she nor the mob saw him reload the same, now filled magazine back in after a desperate use of the transmogrifier. But he felt energy fade from him as he clicked the magazine back into place, and only fear and desperation kept him from falling over.

He hurled another one of the soda can grenades behind him, and the blast nearly deafened him, but it made the mob stagger and stumble, buying them a few precious seconds.

A compact car lay ahead. Again he used the pistol, and the drain was minimal- the world didn't need much convincing the car was unlocked.

"GET IN!" He shouted as he ran for the driver's side, Susie taking the passenger.

Bullets ricocheted off the frame and made spiderwebs in the glass as he used a paperclip to provide a meager explanation to Susie and reality as to how he was going to start a car with no key.

The back window shattered from gunfire as he shifted the car into drive, a few men desperately grabbing onto the rear bumper and letting themselves be dragged a few yards before falling down into the dust.

Calvin whooped. "Okay, Susie, whaddya say we blow this popsicle stand and go home?"

He looked over, and his enthusiasm withered.

Susie clutched her left shoulder, bleeding severely.

…

So, this was it.

Pain radiated through her arm into her body like poison, making even thinking hard.

There were no reserves of energy left in her. Everything had been drained, by the beatings, the community service, the stress, the kidnapping, food and rest deprivation, and now her gunshot wound.

As Susie felt blood pour out from two new holes in her, she knew, with a sad certainty, she would not make it home. Maybe the wound was fatal, and she'd just bleed out, or maybe it was just crippling and she'd be dragged from the car to be pummeled to death.

She could make out Calvin desperately pressing her hand harder against the wound, making her clench her teeth in pain. "Keep pressure on it… hang on… hang on…"

"Calvin…" she gasped, "I want to thank you for trying. For being there. Please, tell my mom and dad I love them…"

"You're going to tell them yourself, okay?" Calvin assured her, as he looked behind, to her, then back at the road ahead.

Always the optimist.

"They want me, not you, Calvin. Let me out and you can get away." Susie reached out to touch him with her injured arm, smearing his shirt with blood.

"If they want you, they'll have to go through me." Calvin said with a tone of finality. "Just keep pressure on it. We **will **get through this."

"Calvin, please-" There was no reason both of them should die. "just listen-"

"Susie… have faith in me. I know I've been a bastard in the past, but have faith in me, just this once. We're going to get out of this alive."

Susie clamped down on her wound as tight as she could. "Promise?" she heard herself say after several seconds.

"Promise."

…

Highweller's driver had the pedal to the floor, driving away as fast as physically possible, and yet he found himself dissatisfied.

He'd signed his own death warrant. The same method he was going to use to humiliate the whore and make her cause meaningless had served only to convict him.

How had Calvin defused the bombs? Was explosives handling such common knowledge that it was child's play for him? Did the wiring simply not work?

It occurred to Highweller that perhaps there was more to the rumors about Calvin's actions than he had first thought. Hadn't the boy reportedly killed one man and disabled another, then snuck into the Grindstone facility undetected? Each of Highweller's attempts to silence the boy had failed. Granted, those had been by proxy, but no normal boy should have been able to have mounted that much resistance…

It would be bad enough that the boy was alive, he would paint Candace and Susie as saints, utterly destroying his reputation, and as a boy who had survived multiple attempts on his life and now was the hero of two hostage situations, he would have the ears of everyone.

It was then that his cell phone rang. He blinked for a moment, Highweller did not get calls, he made them. The number was from Nerrol, a low-ranking citizen.

Highweller had laid out harsh penalties for frivolous, non-emergency use of his cell phone number, and Nerrol regarded him as the voice of God. So it was with no small amount of urgency Highweller prayed it **was **frivolous, just a stupid question, instead of…

"Lord Highweller, the Harlot has escaped!"

Highweller felt his pulse quicken. "How did you-"

"There was a blackout- Moe and Joe Caldern are down, Calvin has her in a car…"

He could not have heard correctly.

There was simply no physical way. He had left the boy, bound and surrounded by bombs, several states behind. No one moved that fast, was that **insane…**

"Calvin Halgins?" he found himself whimpering, incapable of believing that this was happening.

"Spiky yellow hair, it's him, sir, and we're in pursuit… GODDAMMIT… sir, another of our cars just stalled out, we're trying to catch up…"

Nerrol kept talking, but Highweller had let the phone slump to his side, mouth agape.

If God had sent him to wage war against the wicked seeds of Satan, then Satan in turn had sent Calvin to make war with Highweller and all who would jeopardize his master's plans.

...

Two cars dead by use of the transmogrifier pistol. Five more left.

He had, at Susie's dimming, incredulous look, downed another energy drink rapidly before trying desperately to tell the machinery of the two closest cars to cease working. He wasn't going to have the strength for a third.

There were three clips left for the smg in his backpack, cloned rapidly out of sight, but Calvin knew that would be a few more dead or wounded at best and that any blind firing at the fleet of cars behind him now would only serve to anger them. They had stopped firing rapidly a while back, and now only occasional gunshots made him swerve or duck.

They drove on a worn dirt road now, and Calvin prayed like never before they were headed somewhere toward a highway. Susie moaned and coughed with every bump. The bleeding had slowed, but whether because the wound was clotting or Susie was running out of blood, he couldn't tell.

There was half a tank of gas left. If they weren't shot, if Susie didn't bleed to death, if he didn't pass out, maybe there was a chance…

There was a gunshot, a pop, and the car sagged. A tire shot out.

Trying to keep going now was suicide. They were gaining, and fast.

There was no energy left for him to do anything with the transmogrifier pistol, right now all he wanted to do was sleep, and only the terror of pain and death kept him awake…

So that was that. He had a choice between one final stand, surrender, or suicide.

One shot. One shot would mean no pain for Susie. No pain for him.

He prayed, as a car rammed him from behind, that God and Susie's parents would understand that he couldn't let her fall into their hands again, be beaten, be hurt until they got bored…

"Calvin?"

He looked up, tears welling in his eyes.

Susie smiled. Despite clearly being in pain, on death's door, her face held a serenity that he had never seen in anyone, ever.

"I have faith in you."

Then it hit him.

He owed it to her to survive. He owed it to every child who made it out of grindstone, and those who didn't. The parents who got their children back, and those who buried them.

And suddenly, the words in his dreams, the chants of the dead as they pointed to him, became clear as crystal, and he understood, finally, their message.

"No more like us."

…

The car slowed to a halt.

Peter Nerrol breathed a sigh of relief. They'd kill the boy and drag the bitch home, and that would be that. Lord Highweller would be furious, no doubt, but relieved…

Then bullets started flying.

A spray gunned down two people standing next to him, making Peter dive for cover behind a car. The rest of the clip was emptied into a car, making several people jump out, but inflicting no injuries…

The kid was spraying fire wildly now, and they'd have him pinned-

A thundering roar and wave of scorching wind made Nerrol duck again as he heard screaming and cursing. The boy must've hit the gas tank.

Another steady spray of lead from the left back seat caught three, sending them staggering down, firing wildly off target. Peter ducked, hearing bullets ricochet above his head.

There was another loud explosion. Several of his allies flailed burning limbs, screaming and gasping as they rolled on the dirt trying to put out the fire that consumed them.

Ordinarily, the training they went through called for flanking and precision fire. Now, however, they faced Calvin Halgins, who was quickly and brutally demonstrating just why he was able to stroll into an armed fortress and walk out unharmed…

Maybe it was all damn luck. Maybe the boy had some training, and maybe they were actually fighting one of Satan's personal best agents. In any event, it was not the time for precision.

"LIGHT THEM UP!" he yelled.

There was no chain of command left here, no man or woman in charge, and so if there were any objections to the idea, they went unspoken as each surviving citizen of Highground emptied their ammunition into the car, making it rock with the hail of bullets-

FWOOM.

The salvo sent the car up in a fireball, spraying them with glass and metal.

When he opened his eyes, the flaming wreckage of the car greeted him, along with thick black smoke that stung his eyes and made him cough.

Well, that was that. It would have been nice for things to have gone exactly as planned, but Highweller had left them high and dry, and they'd have to improvise. Maybe he would be satisfied with the fact the harlot and her accomplice had burned to death…

A loud buzzing neared, and with it a sudden gust of wind that blew away the smoke…

Peter stared blankly as several military vehicles descended on them, rifles aimed at them, orders to lie down being shouted.

In one fluid movement, Peter thought of Highweller, God, and his home, placed the barrel in his mouth, and flicked the trigger with his thumb.

Click_._

He laughed brokenly even as a soldier slammed him into the dirt.

…

Calvin got up off of Susie, looking behind him, not believing his eyes. The cavalry had come, right after he had exhausted every last one of his ploys, used his last reserves to throw up one final distraction.

Hoarsely, he shouted to the soldiers, feebly flailing his arms. "Hey! HEY! We have an injured girl here! She needs help, stat-"

To their credit, several soldiers rushed over and began treating Susie, lifting her up onto a stretcher, pressing a bandage on her wound. Calvin pushed forward, grabbing her hand, and she smiled weakly.

"What'd I tell you, huh?" He wheezed. "We made it, Susie. We made it and we showed those sons of bitches… you're going to be okay, and…"

He then noticed she was looking behind him, mouth open. "Daddy?"

_Chik-chik._

Something metallic nudged against Calvin's head.

"Drop the gun. Turn around." The command was calm, but the unspoken "or I'll shoot you" was there.

Calvin dropped the sub machine gun, turned, hands raised, to look down the barrel of an army assault rifle, held by Andrew Derkins.

He did not appear to be in a friendly mood.

"I'm going to assume you have an explanation for why you're here, why my daughter's bleeding, why you have a gun and why there's dead bodies everywhere." There was a disturbing calm to his words, like each one was measured very carefully.

The barrel moved to point at his forehead.

"And for your sake, it had better be a fucking good one."


	7. Pride

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter VII: Pride

…

"_I have heard, since my kidnapping at the hands of Rod and Whip, the insinuation that while said group's methods may be overly harsh, that they have a point. That today's youth are so inherently evil, so corrupt at their core, that only by making the first eighteen years or so of their life a Spartan regimen of draconian punishment and rigid discipline can they become passable members of society."_

"_It is this attitude, this idea that one child breaking the law justifies a hundred others being treated like criminals, that drives a vast gulf between adults and the youth of the day. Why should they listen to their elders, when all they will hear is curses, put downs, and grossly exaggerated tales of how children were better behaved 'back then'? Why should they obey rules that seek not to maintain order, but grant petty reasons to punish?"_

"_If you believe that teens and children need to be treated like criminals, kept under 24-hour surveillance, shamed and blamed repeatedly for the actions of others that they have no control over, and you want to know why today's youth resent us, then I can give you the answer."_

"_Look in the mirror. That's why they hate you."_

-Veronica Miles' speech concerning support for R.A.W. and Highweller.

…

Susie was more or less certain now, with trained army medics tending to her, that she would live past this day.

Calvin, on the other hand, had an army assault rifle, safety off, pointed at his skull courtesy of her father, the latter of whom had the same look Susie remembered him having when, while they were having dinner out, a drunk had hit on her mother and refused to take no for an answer.

Her dad had broke both the drunk's arms and God only knew how many ribs. He had been unarmed, then. For Calvin not to be reduced to a pile of shredded meat and bone, a voice of reason was needed.

"Daddy, he saved me!"

This, at the very least, got Andrew Derkins out of "Murder Mode" and into a confused, sort of bemused look. The rifle was pointed away from Calvin's head, but not away from him. "What." Calvin stood rigid as a statue, eyes turning to look at Susie. Only now did Calvin look afraid.

"I don't know how… but he… he came and got me…" Susie fought the fatigue desperately, but she had accomplished one thing, and that was to give her dad a legitimate reason to consider not killing Calvin immediately.

Andrew looked at her, then Calvin, back and forth several times.

"She needs help." Calvin said slowly. "More than you can give her here. I'll tell you everything, but we need her in a hospital, now."

Though the rifle did not move away from Calvin, her father seemed to grasp the logic. "Honey, you're going to be fine. I'll be with you soon." His voice was reassuring, allowing her to let her fatigue overwhelm her, and as sedatives were injected and she was hauled aboard a helicopter, only the last words gave her pause.

"First, me and Calvin are going to have a talk."

…

Well, fuck.

What else was there to say when you had three army men with tactical weapons leveled at you and you barely had the energy to keep your eyes open?

The helicopter ride was tense, eternal and fleeting at once, and when they touched down in a military base, Calvin found himself thinking that maybe jumping out with Susie when the car went in flames wasn't such a great idea after all.

Burning to death was, of course, no pleasant way to leave this world, but then again, burned, charred corpses were surprisingly resilient to acts of advanced coercion techniques employed by military men to get uncooperative guests more talkative.

He was led, a gun not quite pointed at him but not quite pointed away from him, through several hallways to a room within the army base that looked straight out of a police drama. A two way mirror, brick walls, no window, a single light, two folding chairs at one metal table. Andrew locked the door behind them, leaving him alone with Calvin.

His backpack was emptied onto the table, with increasingly incredulous looks and questions from Derkins.

"…a stuffed tiger." He looked at Calvin.

"Good luck charm, and I wanted to give it to Susie for a while to keep her calm."

His gaze softened. Or maybe he was just deciding to kill him quickly.

"…several cans of energy drinks…"

"I needed the boost. I did a lot of running and shooting. By the way, you might wanna tell your men there's a boy back-"

"-in Highground. Moe Caldern, found with a gunshot wound, bound with duct tape and gagged with a urinal cake." Another look that said _Really, Calvin? Really?_

Calvin shrugged. "I had to improvise."

"…a water pistol. This the same one you used to disarm the bombs?" Again the incredulous look.

"The very same. Good luck charm, too. Had it during the Grindstone deal."

He examined the toy rifle. Calvin was silently glad he warped it back to normal out of convenience's sake when they were running. "If you used this to bluff someone into thinking you had a weapon, you either have bigger balls than I thought or you're completely out of your mind."

"I was, then I caught Moe with his fly down. And either or on the balls or crazy is fine." He sagged in his chair. Dying didn't sound so bad right now. Then he could sleep.

There was a long pause. He was obviously trying to make sense of the whole thing, an endeavor in which Calvin wished him the best of luck.

"I've got a bunch of problems, Calvin. You see, it's really easy to say you're in on this, and you took Susie with you as a last ditch attempt to save your ass, only I saw you at the school two days ago, and every student swears it was you who defused the bombs.

I called your parents, who thought you were in your room before I called. You've been fighting tooth and nail for Susie with your blog ever since this mess started. So what I want to know is this: Not the why, but how you got here and managed to do so much damage that we were the clean-up crew."

Calvin vaguely noticed the cross tattooed on his arm, and took a shot in the dark. "What's the matter, Mr. Derkins? Don't you believe in miracles?" he yawned.

Andrew's fist dented the table with a bang that shook Calvin out of sleep's grasp.

"Miracles? I believe that a thirteen year old can evade people wanting to kill him, yeah. I believe that sheer dumb luck means someone stupid enough to stroll into a torture factory can walk out alive. But a kid moves from Ohio to Texas in under an hour, takes down an armed guard, causes a blackout, evacs someone bound hand and foot, and leaves behind corpses and blown up cars? That's not a 'miracle', Calvin, that's Jesus Christ on cocaine."

"Look," Calvin said, very wary the next thing dented could be him, "I don't entirely understand how I got there." Not exactly a lie, he didn't understand the gun's workings. "All I know is that I wanted to save her, and I did. I prayed and prayed that I could get one more chance, and I got it. You can waterboard me, hook me up to a lie detector, pump me full of whatever you got in the way of truth serum, but if you want better answers than that, you have to talk to God, because **I don't know why I'm still alive.**"

Andrew's fury at the lack of sense abated somewhat.

"The only things I can tell you for certain are that I wanted to save her, and I did."

Andrew clenched and unclenched his fist. "I need you to start from the beginning, and not leave anything out."

Calvin inhaled. "I need two things. Caffeine, and for you to understand that what I am going to tell you will sound crazy."

Andrew picked up his radio. "Get us a coke, would ya?" then he looked at Calvin. "This entire situation is already crazy. Start talking."

…

Andrew stared at Calvin after hearing fifteen minutes of pure, undiluted insanity.

The story had begun normally enough. Calvin had seen the opening for "Hang 'em Highweller". He had gone up to his room.

Then he talked about talking to the stuffed tiger on the table and using the water pistol to make himself into light so he could go to Texas, and Andrew found himself with a persistent headache.

He talked about using the pistol- the "Transmogrifier"- to turn his toy rifle into a real one, using _that_ to shoot Moe in the leg, then using the pistol to cause a blackout, open locks, make grenades…

He looked for the tells of lying. A kid like Calvin should have them. But as far as he could tell, Calvin, at the very least, was convinced he was telling the absolute truth.

"So then it hit me that the voices in my dreams weren't telling me that I'd failed them, they were saying that they wanted no more like them, or no more dead kids, so I stopped the car, and used the pistol to-"

"Okay, okay, okay! You can stop now!" Andrew half-commanded, half-pleaded.

He paced the room briefly, waiting for the headache to pass. His daughter was safe, stable, and getting good medical care, his wife had assured him of that a few minutes ago. Calvin had played a role in her rescue- that was something he was becoming more and more convinced of.

He was also convinced Calvin was on something incredibly powerful. "Are you… on any medication, Calvin?"

"Well, my shrink gave me some pills to help me sleep, but they didn't really help. Why?"

"…no reason." He made a note to get a blood and urine test done on Calvin, quick.

"Like I said, it makes no sense. I can't explain how it works, it just does."

"Okay, fine. Turn the desk into… I don't know, a gun. Any gun." Andrew demanded.

"I can't, because-"

"Because I don't believe? You expect me to believe that you survived the Grindstone shit and saved my daughter because you have this Jesus Gun that only works if no one else is watching or you can make people believe there's a reason for something to happen? How in the name of fuck am I supposed to buy that?!" Andrew asked, exasperation getting the better of him.

"You can't." Calvin sighed. "That's the problem."

"Then why don't you have, oh, I don't know, all the game systems? All the toys? Why aren't you rich?"

"Because I **don't know how it works!**" Calvin shouted. "I don't know what…_ happens_ when I pull the trigger besides the change and me getting tired. I don't know what will happen if I keep using it for things that I don't need! And if I just happened to get all these things out of nowhere, what do I tell my parents? That I won the lottery?"

Andrew loomed over him. He was either high on something fierce, or he was completely crazy.

"Give me one reason to believe any of this." He growled.

Calvin looked him dead in the eyes. "Your daughter is alive."

_Damn it._

It all came back to that. It was obvious that the people of Highground wanted Calvin dead. It was obvious Calvin wanted Susie alive, and the feeling was mutual.

He had read the boy's stuff. It was less bragging and more scathing condemnations of what were admittedly horrible things- death boot camps that made his basic training look like a field day. A cult dedicated to child abuse. Highweller's campaign against his daughter.

The only logical conclusion Andrew could come to was, insanity or drug use aside, Calvin's interests were benevolent.

He'd still recommend the blood tests. And a CAT scan.

A knock at the door got his attention, opening it to reveal a private. "Sir, we have the guy in custody. He's stable and you've been given permission to interrogate him."

He turned to Calvin, smiled. The boy recoiled, obviously remembering what that look meant.

"I'll be back in a while. Knock if you need the restroom."

…

Joe Caldern, just a few hours ago, was waiting for his personal savior, Simon Highweller, to finish up with a fake trial and kill a girl so he could start over. Away from lawsuits, angry inmates, and evil, violent spiky haired bastards that just wouldn't die.

Then Calvin had wrecked it all.

No, he had "Calvined" it, meaning he had done in horrifyingly little time ruined not only the thing in context, but salted the earth in such a way to ensure against it ever being rebuilt. That would be his new word for ruining anything beyond all salvage- to "Calvin" something.

Things had gone from mildly inconvenient to bad to horrifying in very little time. First, Highweller had mysteriously left right before the trial he was so bent on doing was to begin. Then, the lights had gone out, taking with them Susie and leaving behind his badly wounded, piss-soaked son, gagged with a urinal cake. Then his rifle failed him, and when he tried to take Calvin down with a pistol, the little bastard had given him the parting gift of multiple gunshot wounds.

They had left him with a towel and promises they would kill the fucking bastard, and not thirty minutes later he had very angry soldiers shoving combat weaponry into his face.

They had removed the bullets, sans anesthetic, poured rubbing alcohol in the wounds, and left him bandaged and chained to a hospital bed in a scantly furnished, dimly lit roo. Joe took consolation in the fact that he was certain that he could not be in any more pain than they had already put him through.

The door opened, and in walked a powerfully built man in army fatigues, army cut brown hair, chiseled jaw, and an almost inscrutable smile.

"Real cute." Joe mumbled. "Really cute, what your med-boys did to me. I take it this base takes the Geneva Convention as a polite suggestion?"

The man chuckled as he strolled over. "You know, coming from you, Mr. Caldern, that's kinda clever. I didn't think you were the sort of person who knew what the Geneva Convention was. And come on, a big, big man like you, so brave and so strong, beating up kids? I mean, that had to be like, oh, getting cut shaving for you." He assured, opening up a nearby cabinet.

"I was acting under the legal orders of a judge-"

"No, no, you were acting under the orders of a judge no longer legally involved with sentencing or hearing who decided to throw a hissy fit." He looked through the cabinet. "How much did he offer you, anyway?"

"It was go with him or go back to prison each time." Joe pleaded. "You gotta understand, there's people I put in jail that want me **dead**."

"Yeah, I know- cops aren't too popular in lock-up." The man conceded. "Especially ones" his voice grew colder, "who like to hurt little girls."

He turned to Joe, looked him over. "You were banged up pretty bad even before you got shot up, weren't you? And that was just from inmates who were so pissed about hearing what you did to one little girl. People who robbed and murdered hated you so much they couldn't stand having you around." His voice was flat now, emotionless, like he was forcibly restraining himself.

Joe suddenly realized he'd seen that face before, and his mind raced, as he struggled to recall where…

"I want you to imagine, for a moment, if that innocent, precious little girl being beaten half to death could anger thieves and murderers to single you out for a beating, what her father must feel like."

What was his problem? How did he get off lecturing him about roughing up a bitchy kid when he killed for a living? "Listen, Mr. …"

His blood froze when he glanced at the nametag on his uniform, and suddenly he remembered where he'd seen that face: Glaring back at him with murderous fury from the house of Susie Derkins after he had brought her home hours after her community service shift was supposed to end.

"Funny thing." Andrew Derkins said slowly, as Joe futilely tried to pull free. "The media hasn't been given an official list of casualties. As far as the world outside is concerned, everyone might have died."

Joe choked as the insinuation set in. "You can't kill me…"

"Yes, I can. In many different ways, three hundred and counting. But I'm not going to kill you, Joe..." Andrew rummaged in the cabinet, bringing out what appeared to be a long strand of plastic tubing, and a tube of some sort of ointment.

"…no matter how much you ask me to."

…

It had been two hours before Calvin realized he needed a bathroom break. A quick rap on the door and civil request got him such, escorted to the restroom by two armed guards.

They at least let him piss in peace.

He was just finishing washing his hands, thinking how he was going to explain **this** to his parents, when he heard screaming.

"**NO, NO, NO, PLEASE DONAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH HHHHH-**"

He ran out zipping up his fly. "What the hell was that?"

The two soldiers shrugged. "Interrogation." Said the black one, as if Calvin asked about the weather.

"**FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I'M SORRY I WAS JUST FOLLOWING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AA-"**

Interrogation his ass. Those were the screams of a torture victim echoing through the halls-

"Look, look please, I can make it up to you, just hear me ou- **AHGGRRRBBRBRBRBRBRBRLAAAAAH…KILL ME, KILL ME YOU SICK FUCK AND GET IT OVER WI-**"

There was the sound of something large being slammed around with great force.

Calvin was sure of one thing, and that was he wanted to be as far away from that place as possible. "Who-"

"Classified information." The other soldier, a hispanic man who looked suited to both army and mixed martial arts cut him off.

His panic was diluted by one factor- he recognized the screams. He had heard them recently…

It took another, now more muffled scream of pleading for mercy to remind him who was being subjected to such misery, and his horror and empathy popped like a balloon, leaving in its absence a horrible, alien sort of zen assurance thought.

Joe Caldern was gaining an intimate knowledge of what it was like to be on the receiving end of his style of interrogation.

For a few seconds Calvin listened to Joe plea, beg and sob as things Calvin did not know, did not want to imagine, provoked screams again and again. He searched his soul for any shred of empathy, any gram of conscience that would urge him to speak out for Caldern, that he did not deserve this…

…and came up empty.

When he returned to his cell, Calvin found himself able to sleep well for the first time in a long while.

…

Simon Highweller watched the news as one might observe a funeral for a dear friend.

There were no tidings of hope here, no victory to be salvaged beyond his successful retreat. Highground was under military control, it's inhabitants taken into custody. His house ransacked, displayed on national TV as investigators manhandled his possessions. The network that hosted his show had canceled him with little explanation as to why.

His name was cursed by parents and judges on TV, not just in Newden, but all over the United States.

Worst of all, Susie Derkins was alive.

So this was why Grindstone was crippled and why he was now a wanted man- Calvin Halgins.

They were camped out in what had meant to be a safehouse for ten people, not the 24 guards and Highweller himself. They had weapons and explosives in reserve, but they were running out of food and morale.

It was over.

Simon Highweller heard the whispers behind his back, about how this was hopeless, how things would only get worse. He had no rebuttal for them. It was starvation or capture now.

A fury burned in him, the only thing keeping his despair from being overwhelming. It could not end like this, with him reduced to hiding in the middle of nowhere while some brat told the world how horrible a monster he was for trying to enforce law and order. If it was the last thing he did, he would demand a dear price from those who had dared to bring him to this low.

"…Susie Derkins was flown to Newden Central Hospital, where she will continue her recovery from her injuries…"

That snippet caught his attention.

There was only one rational course of action, he realized, as he stood on uncertain knees, turning slowly to face uncertain troops. The whore could not survive this debacle. The city of Newden would pay dearly for sheltering her from righteous judgement, a lasting testament to all as to the final reward for those who hindered the lord's servants.

"Suit up. Carry as many explosives and as much ammunition as you can. We're heading to Newden."

If he was going down, those responsible were going with him.

…

Calvin awoke to see Andrew Derkins looking down at him. Sleeping in one of the chairs required propping himself up against a wall, but he had gotten an hour or so of sleep.

"You done with Caldern?" Calvin asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Derkins replied calmly. "Anyway. I don't know how you got to Susie, but you did, and she swears that you meant well every step of the way. She's alive thanks to you."

There was a long pause. "Thank you."

Calvin nodded. "I don't expect you to believe anything I told you. I don't understand what happened. All I can tell you is that what I told you is the truth so far as I know."

Andrew bobbed his head as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all. "The official story is that you caught several buses. I would highly suggest sticking to that story at all costs."

Calvin looked at him. "Buses." He said flatly.

"Do you have any idea what would happen to me if we filed a report with your testimony as is? To my friends? To my men and superiors? We'd be dishonorably discharged at best. More likely they'd send us to Arkham Asylum. So I suggest chalking this one up as a miracle and leaving it at that."

"Fine with me, but can I ask a favor?" Calvin queried cautiously.

"Depends. What?"

…

"Look, Mr. Halgins, I realize you're upset, and there's a lot of things we don't understand right now, but your son's actions saved my daughter's life."

It was this assurance from Major Sergeant Derkins that made Derrick Halgins reconsider his original plan of chaining Calvin to his bed.

A few minutes prior, Derrick had been unable to formulate complete, coherent sentences, several questions demanding voice all at once. "Where is he?", "How did he get there", and "What do you mean, he's killed several people" were blended into unintelligible babble punctuated with the barely discernable expletive.

So far, he had been assured of several important things, that the people Calvin had killed in his… had they actually called it a rescue operation?- were in fact trying to kill him and Susie as well, there would be no charges. That his son was directly responsible for Susie's rescue was an impossible idea, an illogical violation of physics and common sense, but he had been repeatedly reassured that Susie's testimony and evidence pointed to Calvin launching some sort of commando assault on Highground, freeing her and mowing down several of the people responsible for the attacks on Verdant High.

"How…" Derrick finally managed to get out, "did he get there?"

Andrew's lips thinned. "We… think he took a bus. Or several."

Derrick gave him a look that he hoped tactfully said what he did not dare to say out loud- _Are you fucking kidding me?_

"Like I said, we're not exactly sure how he got there, or how he managed to do what he did, and we're pretty certain that he doesn't wholly understand how he did it either."

"So what you want me to accept is that my son managed to cross several states in under an hour, break into a courthouse, save the girl and go Chuck Norris on people twenty years older than him?" Derrick's incredulity bled into his voice. He tried to remain respectful, partly out of genuine respect for a uniformed soldier and partly because Derkins could easily put him through the concrete walls if needed, but the explanation he was getting was that Calvin was some sort of Superman.

"If I had a better explanation for how he was able to do what he did, I'd give it to you. Right now, we're calling his rapid movement an "act of God" and hoping it will be left at that."

The idea that this was the act of some benevolent deity finally getting off his or her ass, doing something about this nonsense, and using his son as a catalyst was the least nonsensical thing Derrick had heard in months, a fact that brought forth amusement and despair in equal measure.

"How's Susie doing?" Derrick asked after several seconds.

Derrick's face went sober. "She lost a lot of blood. Lot of bruising, some lacerations. That bastard Highweller beat her up pretty bad. If your son hadn't done what he'd done, she'd be dead."

"And Calvin?"

"He's exhausted, but unhurt. I got a brief interview out of him, and then he crashed hard. He's sleeping near the front desk, waiting for you."

_Just like before._

Calvin had been taken from them at gunpoint by false cops, and when they had heard of him again, he had forced the evacuation of a torture facility and was assisting in tending to the injured children. He had been unhurt then, too.

Physically, at least.

The zeal he had for life and his energy levels had plummeted over the summer. He had become more withdrawn, more paranoid, more cynical.

God only knew what he would be like now. Judges declaring war on his friends for acts of charity. A crooked cop and his son trying to kill him multiple times. Being tortured by his math teacher and his principal trying to cover it all up. A group of child-hating Highweller fans descending on his school, killing students and trying to blow him up. A judge handing a girl over to a pedophile as a reward.

Yet as he found him sleeping in a chair, Calvin seemed, for the first time, to be smiling as he slept.

There would be time for lectures and tirades later. Right now, his son, his hero, needed rest.

…

They had treated Moe rather well at first, he had to admit.

No salt in his wounds, literal or verbal. Anesthetic, sutures, disinfectant, all that distinguished him from another injury victim were the cuffs securing him to his bed.

Then Moe had heard his father screaming.

The cuffs were arranged just so that he could not clamp them over his ears. He tried to press his head as deep into the pillow as he could, to block out the screams and pleas, but it did nothing.

Only a few times did he actually hear things being slammed around. The rest was simply his father screaming or sobbing, begging and pleading for someone to stop.

He didn't want to imagine what his father was being put through. He just wanted the screaming to stop…

After what had to have been hours of increasingly hoarse screaming, the wails finally died down into broken sobbing.

A man entered into his room minutes later, smiling, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Sorry about the noise. Your father was having a psychotic episode after we told him the charges he'd be facing. How's the leg, by the way?"

"Fine." Moe squeaked.

"Oh, my apologies. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Andrew Derkins." His smile widened as Moe felt his face pale. "Susie's daddy."

"**HE-**"

In an instant, a massive hand clamped over his mouth. "No, Moe. I'm not going to do anything to you."

Moe relaxed, ever so slightly.

"Because, you see, it's funny. I heard you had a really, really, **really** bad time in juvie. That was when you could try to run away, and if I heard the doctor's correctly, the fastest you'll ever be able to go from now on is a brisk limp."

Moe's eyes widened.

"But, hey! You never know. Maybe when everyone hears at juvie how badass you were, trying to blow up a school and kidnapping a girl so she could be tortured to death, they'll see what a big, tough man you are and leave you alone. I mean, it's not like they're going to hold what your dad did or what you did against you, right?"

He removed his hand, started to walk out, as the horrifying implications set into Moe's mind.

"Kill me." Moe pleaded, as Andrew opened the door. "Just kill me."

"Sorry." Andrew shrugged. "It's against regulation."

The door closed behind him, and locked with a click.

Moe was left with his thoughts and his father's muffled sobbing.

…

**SUSIE DERKINS RESCUED, MANHUNT FOR HIGHWELLER CONTINUES**

Susie Derkins was rescued in what appears to be the combined efforts of several army reserve members and Calvin Halgins, ending in a fiery shoot-out that left thirty members of the Highground community dead, twenty of which have been suspected of being involved in the Verdant Junior High bombing attempt.

A nation-wide search for Simon Highweller, ex-host of the recently cancelled "Hang 'em Highweller" court reality show, confirmed to have ordered both the bombing attempt and the kidnapping of Susie Derkins.

Candace Maple was found a day earlier, having shot her captor, Jeremy Goffels, as they drove through a Newden toll both. Allegedly, Goffels was given Candace as a reward for his actions in aiding and abetting Highweller's campaign against Susie Derkins. Charges of attempted kidnapping and intent to sexually abuse a minor have been filed against Goffels, who remains in custody pending trial, bail having been denied.

The events allegedly began when Highweller and deceased Newden judge Brian Marrin held a lecture at Verdant Junior High, criticizing the charity drive funded and organized by Susie Derkins as a cover-up for future crimes. Susie Derkins was arrested during the lecture on charges of drug possession and resisting arrest and tried on the same day, denied both counsel and the right to produce witnesses. Both of the charges were determined to be unsubstantiated a month later by Judge Samuel Verner, who overturned Susie's conviction.

During this one month period, Highweller is suspected of ordering, through Marrin, repeated attempts to intimidate or kill Calvin Halgins, an outspoken critic of the proceedings against Susie Derkins. These attempts included allegedly getting Calvin's Omnijournal account revoked, an assassination attempt by ex-officer Joseph Caldern and his son Moe Caldern, the video of which has recently reached two million hits online, and a kidnapping and torture attempt by Calvin's own ex-math teacher, Deetra Kalen.

No explanation as to how Calvin Halgins, seen leaving Verdant Junior High only moments after police and bomb disposal units arrived, managed to reach Highground, Texas in record breaking times has been given, but witness accounts from military members and Susie Derkins herself confirmed he was responsible for the initial rescue.

Moe and Joe Caldern, allegedly responsible for Susie's capture, were confirmed to be alive and among those taken into custody during the raid on Highground.

-Article in Newden Times newspaper on October 30th

…

Spittle had been barraged with a number of requests and notifications in very short order, not unlike asking for a drink of water and getting a firehose to the face, he mused.

That he had been reinstated, effective immediately, as principal of Verdant Junior High was overshadowed by the fact that in very short order, his school had become the fiefdom of a coward, kidnapper, and now, confirmed pedophile and accessory to an attempted bombing.

Even before he had been fired, the control Goffels had over his school had turned it into a madhouse- The damnable lecture. Moe had strolled through the halls, assaulting people as he pleased, and later he and his father had tried to murder Calvin for the second time this year. After he had left, things had gotten impossibly worse. Attempting to intimidate Calvin into surrendering his blog passwords and issuing a retraction, followed by kidnapping and torturing.

Then Goffels had let those cowards come in, shoot his students, try to blow the whole place up and blame it on Calvin.

It was very, very tempting to tell the school board who had pleaded with him to return that this was their mess, that he had tried to restore order and had been spurned for his efforts, and that they were responsible for cleaning up…

…but his students needed him. Someone to explain, as best as was humanly possible, the lunacy that had occurred. Someone to glue back the fragments of sanity into something passable.

And so Robert Spittle found himself back at his old desk, informing students and parents that classes would resume soon.

There would be mourning. People would need counseling. Watching friends die and having a maniac gleefully explain he was going to kill everyone and get away with it were not things easily forgotten.

But he would not allow terrorists to cripple his school with fear.

…

**NOVEMBER**

The remainder of Highground was well aware that the new mission Highweller instructed them on would not end in them escaping again.

It was very clear from the beginning of planning to the organizing of attack groups that escape was not a priority. They were going to go down in one final assault against the Whore of Babylon, demanding the justice the world was dead-set on denying them.

The planning was not as organized as the raid on Verdant was; there wasn't time for it to be. It was alarmingly simple- break into the Newden hospital, set up bombs, ensure as many people as possible died, then leave the place a smoldering pile of rubble.

There was nothing for them to gain from this except the knowledge that they would make those who had made them homeless pay dearly, but that was enough.

"We have asked for justice to be done. First, politely. We were mocked. Then strongly. We were hated and mocked. Then we demanded it, and we were brutalized, driven from our home, made strangers in our own land, fugitives from the very law we sought to aid. Now we have no recourse left but to **take** justice into our own hands."

Highweller looked over the cramped, hungry, angry group of twenty-four men and women briefly before continuing.

"These are our final days. You have no doubt noticed there is no evacuation plan. But I now think there is no greater punishment than to be made to live here, in a place that embraces madness, lies, and corruption. The Whore of Babylon owes us and God almighty a debt of blood, and with God as my witness, we **will make her pay with interest!**"

And the final remnants of Highground roared their affirmation.

…

Susie had finally finished the last of her schoolwork as rain beat against her window. The rain relaxed her, it was like God was washing all the junk of yesterday away.

She was wishing her problems could go away that easily when there was a knock at her hospital door. "Come in." she said quietly.

Calvin walked in, escorted by her mother Tina, bearing a box of chocolates and a large bottle of coke.

Susie smiled. "Hey."

Calvin smiled back, clearly concerned. "Hey."

Tina excused herself from the room.

Susie spoke first after a few moments of silence. "Thank you. For everything."

Calvin struggled a bit to find words as he set the candy and soda on a counter. The old Calvin would have demanded a favor later or bragged. Now, all he said was a muted "You're welcome."

Susie sighed. "There's some parents who say I shouldn't come back to school. That no one's safe as long as I'm there."

Calvin nodded. "I got some of those too. Spittle's back in charge, though, so it's a moot point."

A long pause. "Why?"

Calvin looked up.

"Why did they do all of this because of me?" Susie asked, tears forming. "What did I do to them? What did those kids do to them? Why do they hate me?"

Calvin took a deep breath. "Because you're the best of us. Because you proved them wrong, and people like Highweller can't stand it when they're proven wrong. So they lied about you, and when that didn't work, they got violent."

Susie looked down.

"…there will be people who try to blame you for this. Who will tell you that it was either partially or totally your fault. That you should have just laid down and taken whatever they dished out. **Don't listen to them.** You ran a charity event. Marrin, Goffels, and Highweller were the ones who did everything wrong." He walked over to her.

"Don't let anyone make you feel guilty because of someone else's stupidity. You, of all people, don't deserve it."

Susie hugged Calvin, grabbing him, pulling him close…

…and slowly, Calvin hugged her back.

…

The Kevlar vest was an irony unto itself.

A man of Highweller's station was more accustomed to fine clothes and judge's robes than he was combat armor, and having fallen so far, having lost his life's work and all it's rewards, he now longed for death.

But first, the Whore of Babylon would die.

The shotgun was cumbersome enough when held. It would be a miracle if the first shot he fired didn't knock him off his feet. But it and the revolver he had stowed in a belt holster would be the divine instruments of justice necessary to cut down all who impeded him in his quest.

One scout had gone ahead, confirming what he had feared- there were five police officers outside Susie's room.

Not that Highweller didn't have a plan.

The six teddy bears were sent to several rooms, bearing loving messages of "Get well soon!", "God loves you!", and other well-wishes embroidered on their large stomachs.

To his brief amusement, he'd been informed several of those bears were sent to children's rooms. He had considered doing the same for Susie, but anything sent to her would be treated with the utmost suspicion.

Besides, Simon wanted to do the job personally, if possible.

A rain-soaked, trenchcoat clad agent rapped on the door of the van they were using. "Bombs are in position."

"Excellent. Clark, we should enter through the front, I think."

Clark, an overweight 40-something failed Laundromat owner, nodded, shifted the van into drive, and rolled his neck, grabbing a radio. "On my signal, we go through the front full speed, teams a, b, c, then Omega, stand by-"

Highweller knew it was overly theatrical in some sense, but wasn't the wrath of God supposed to be loud and bombastic? With fiery hail and plagues, surely this wasn't too dramatic, he mused as he readied the first of two detonators.

There were several more drums aboard the van, making cramped conditions more so for the five passengers and himself, but they and the other cars' explosives would serve as the coup de grace after Susie was confirmed dead.

Clark flashed his lights five times. Two compacts and a truck obligingly sped up, making pedestrians dive for cover and crushing a few unlucky ones as they crashed through the front automatic doors, and then it was their turn, Clark gunning the engine.

And with a mere press of his thumb, Highweller's entry into Newden Central Hospital was punctuated with screams and fire.


	8. Fall

The Trial of Susie Derkins

Chapter VIII: Fall

…

"_I asked mommy once what made a person bad. She said she didn't know. Sometimes people do bad things because people were bad to them, or because they were taught bad was right. But she didn't know what made people bad."_

"_I think I know what makes someone bad."_

"_Good people do bad things because they think they can't do good things. Bad people do bad things because they can."_

"_Barry told me so."_

-Hope Miles on "Bad People"

…

The effect of the explosions was immediate and severe.

Jacob Harris, age 10, wondered who would have sent him such a big bear. His mom worked overtime to pay his surgery bill, and his dad hadn't spoken to either of them since he was four. He assumed it was his mother's coworkers acting out of charity and hugged the bear close. The proximity meant his death was painless.

Carrie Bearman, age 15, recovering from chemotherapy, watched her mother handle the bear, asking if it was from a boyfriend. She didn't get a chance to respond. The blast left her blinded, deafened, and fatally wounded, trapped beneath rubble, covered with gore both hers and her mothers'. She screamed, believing she was in hell. When she felt herself go numb from blood loss, she laughed from relief.

Terry Lance, age 25, thought the bear was a joke from the guys at work who saw him go down screaming when he suffered testicular contortion. He had decided to buy them a beer as soon as he was released when a horrific blast hurls him, minus the majority of the left side of his body, through his hospital room window from the fifth floor. His last thought before impact was that he never would get to propose to his girlfriend.

Shara Worth, age 33, had struggled with disease and hardship all her life. If it wasn't constant influenza, it was a rash that elicited endless teasing. If not a rash, it was being fired from her job because the till was short five dollars on the one day in five weeks she had off. The recent diagnosis of terminal breast cancer was little surprise, nor was the fact that the bear sent to her was really a bomb. She forced herself not to cry as she lay bleeding out from the stumps where her right leg and arm were- God enjoyed her tears, she believed. He didn't deserve a single one more.

Gina Marazelli, 84 and widowed, was dead before the explosion. Her final thought was how considerate someone must be to send her a gift.

Carlos Juan, age 42, is visiting his son Gonzales, age 4, after he had his leg shattered by a drunk driver who rammed into his house and into his room. Carlos handed his son the bear, telling him that it will be okay, that the lawsuit will help to pay for the operation. He's stepped out to use the men's room when he hears the blast. Instinct made him run back to the flaming smoking hell that was where his son's room used to be. The sight of his son's head split in two was too much for him to bear. No one noticed him stagger to the gaping hole the bomb has left in the hospital wall until he was in mid jump from the tenth story.

The gunfire confirmed immediate suspicions by staff and patient alike: Newden Central Hospital was under attack.

…

The recoil was horrific. Had he not braced properly, it would have surely dislocated his shoulder. Loading it had been a chore in and of itself- the AA-12's bulky circular magazine was hardly light. And as he had been warned, the damage it could inflict decreased the further away a victim was.

Yet the visceral joy Highweller felt as a point blank blast blew a literal hole into a nurse unlucky enough to stumble into his path was beyond compare. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be the weapon he would use to execute the Whore of Babylon, painfully and slowly.

It was not as fitting as, say, a cross-hilt dagger or sword would have been, but these were modern times.

The bombs had worked. Even though they were forced to take the stairs to Susie's fifth floor room, they encountered little resistance.

"Conserve your ammo." Highweller instructed the mob with him. "Shoot anyone with a phone or gun, but hold off on the random murders." He paused. "Unless you think they really deserve it." It was their last hurrah, after all, and if they genuinely felt the world would be better off without one more nurse or patient, who was he to object?

There were six guards down at the lobby, with permission to detonate the major explosives early if a breach by the police or military seemed imminent. As much as Highweller now basked in the unbridled chaos his actions caused, he knew he would have to move quickly- no doubt even the National Guard was on its way.

As he ascended, something struck him, something odd and alien. It was far, far more satisfying to tear down than it was to build, far more enjoyable to destroy than create.

He'd done it, he realized, as his smile grew wider. He had finally come to understand how someone like Calvin could exist! No doubt the boy lived on adrenaline, relishing every moment he was causing mayhem, gunning down guards, setting cars on fire, and he couldn't blame him- now, as Highweller jogged up stairs, ignoring arthritic pain, he felt more alive than he had in years.

A doctor had the misfortune to try the stairs, eyes growing wide as he opened the door to see Highweller's shotgun aimed at his face.

"Sorry, wrong door!" Highweller gleefully jeered as he squeezed the trigger.

Only the quick reflexes of his allies kept him from falling back down the stairs, but the sight…

He'd blown off a man's head. He didn't think he could actually **do **that.

"Doctors these days," he commented as he nearly slipped in gore. "So… scatterbrained."

His allies laughed, some more nervously than others.

…

It took Calvin two seconds to comprehend what was happening, and it didn't take Tina or Susie much longer either, the former running back into the room.

Highweller was going all in, no more subtlety, no more holding back. Like Deetra Kalen, he had likely lost the last remnants of what passed for sanity the moment he had found himself against the wall. The explosions doubtlessly meant more dead, more victims of some asshole's temper tantrum when the world didn't offer him an apology and a blowjob when things didn't immediately go his way.

Calvin opened the door, and unsurprisingly, the police assigned to protect Susie had scattered. Doubtlessly, Highweller had at least several people with him to protect him, and given the police's previous performance they would either be gunned down or conned into joining.

Stifling his fury at the police having yet again proven useless, he turned to the two. "We need to get to her out of here, now." Calvin knew he was stating the obvious, but that got the ball rolling, and they hurriedly disconnected her from an IV, Tina helping Susie, clad in a hospital gown, walk.

The question "where to" was a hard one- knowing Highweller, he'd blocked off the exits downstairs already, or at least had guards set up.

Tina, however, seemed aware of this, dialing her cell. "Andrew, it's me, there's been an attack at the hospital- yes, we're okay right now! I need you to get us helicopters to help us evacuate anyone we can!"

Of course. An air escape was the best course of action now, at least for those who could be ambulated out of there.

Susie struggled into some sweatpants she had stashed. "Any sign of them?" she asked.

Calvin peered around the corner of the door cautiously. "…no, but I don't think we've got much time." Going with the assumption it was Highweller, it wouldn't be too long before they had to deal with his thugs, and making weapons malfunction when more people were around meant a greater strain on him. He had no toy weapons to transmute into real ones, either. The energy needed to make a gun out of rubble or thin air would be exhausting.

Again, he couldn't save everyone.

He shoved the despairing thoughts to the back of his skull. There would be time to cry, to rage against whatever mad god was responsible for this hellish world, after Susie was safe.

…

"Sir, they're flying in helicopters…"

Highweller stopped advancing on the nurse wheeling a wheelchair bound patient away to look out one of the holes the teddy bear bombs had blown. Even with the wind and rain, the distinct noise of helicopter blades was clear, and with straining eyes he could make out the distinct shapes of something moving through the rain.

They were going to evacuate the patients.

He turned back to his victim just in time to watch elevator doors close, and he futilely fired a shotgun blast, knowing it would only startle them at worst…

"Eric," he turned to a spindly man with a hunting rifle. Eric Gasman was skilled in demolitions even before he had joined Highground, and when Highweller had given him carte blanche to make real bombs, meant to cause as much damage and maiming as possible, Eric had come through in spade. The man now stood at rapt attention.

"The bombs at the base floor. How powerful are they?"

"In your van? Enough to turn the lobby to rubble. But I figured you wanted to go out with a bang, so I talked to some of my pals overseas. Took a bit of fast talking and lying, to-"

"The point, Eric." Highweller snapped.

"Lord Highweller," Eric beamed, "I have a nuke in my car."

For several moments Highweller stood there, expecting for Eric to say something else, say he was kidding. Then, after a minute, he spoke again. "How strong?"

"Everyone in the hospital dies. Everyone and everything in a five mile radius dies slower."

Elation filled Highweller as the implications hit him. The death of Susie Derkins would not merely be marked by the gutting of a hospital and it's people- Eric Gasman had gone the proverbial extra mile, ensuring that the grave of the Whore of Babylon would be salted earth for years to come.

Giddy with this knowledge, he pulled out his cell phone, proudly smiling at Eric, who absorbed the admiration like a sponge.

As he dialed the police, he did not notice the nervous shifting of other members of his armada.

…

Clark Mannings was ready to kill and die for Highweller, in that order.

Highweller had given him purpose beyond maintaining washing machines, besides going on errands for rolls and rolls of quarters. For that, for being able to be part of something besides a failing chain of Laundromats, he was grateful.

Then he sees Highweller's smile at Eric Gasman, a psychopath if ever there was one, telling him that he made a crude nuclear bomb just to ensure that their final assault left as much scorched earth as possible.

The hospital was one thing. That was just punishment for harboring the whore. But to condemn so many others to slow death? Wasn't it increasingly likely the more people killed, the greater chance they would kill someone who could have been turned to their cause?

Then there was Highweller's current state to be considered. The previous operations, though unsuccessful, were ordered, neat, disciplined. Even the most drastic attack, the bombing of the school, had been carried out with such precision it took infernal intervention to be stopped.

Now they were crashing cars into hospitals, shooting bed-ridden patients, and planning to leave a good portion of the city glowing hot.

Clark was aware that the media had painted them as the bad guys. That this was the final act of spite, the last act of defiance against an empire of evil, to let the wicked know they would not die silently.

But as he listened to Highweller demand that the helicopters cease trying to evacuate patients, or he would detonate the nuke, saw the maniacal glint in his eye, he saw in him the exact same monster that Highweller had so often preached could only exist in children and teens.

There was no wisdom here, now. Only a hunger for victims. Clark understood wanting to take as many down with them as possible, but now he feared their actions would not create a lesson to the world, but only victims to be mourned. They would be remembered as terrorists, nothing more.

But the momentum of this could not be stopped, not here, not now, lest everything be for nothing.

Weren't all wars full of deeds that made men feel uncomfortable?

This wasn't about glory, or honor, or even being sympathetic to those who thought ill of them. It was about killing the Whore of Babylon and making the world understand that there were consequences- severe consequences- for aiding Satan's chosen.

Maybe turning the whole place into a poisoned, fiery hellhole would finally get their attention.

But still, as he reasoned with himself, he wished that Highweller wouldn't grin so much.

…

Andrew Derkins wanted to know why the helicopters were moving away from the hospital, and he wanted to know five minutes ago.

After being denied entry to the hospital by the surrounding police, after asking desperately for any clue as to why preparations weren't being made to enter and take out the invading force, Derkins had finally literally shaken the answer out of a rookie cop.

"They have a nuke. They threatened to set it off if we didn't get the choppers away please don't hit me-"

A nuclear bomb? Were they under attack by terrorists? If so, then why didn't they set it off now, instead of all the theatrics-

Highweller.

He didn't want to believe it, it would be far better, somehow, in some insane way, for the two to be completely unrelated, and for these to be terrorists who chose Newden for an attack, but logic, cold and sterile, convinced him that Highweller was making one last ditch effort to kill his wife, his baby girl and thousands along with them.

If and when the National Guard showed up, it would only serve to accelerate things. Derkins had seen and heard of this sort of suicide attack before, where the only goal was to do as much damage as possible with no concern as to one's survival. The only thing delaying Highweller from detonating the bombs now was, knowing him, an obsession with killing Susie himself.

They were beginning to get civilians evacuated, now, trying to save everyone they could from a fiery death when Highweller eventually detonated the nuke.

Andrew Derkins stood his ground, defiant.

If the world wouldn't let his family live, he wouldn't live either.

…

They had made it.

The elevator ride had been uneventful. No gunshots fired through the doors, no explosions bringing it to a screeching halt, nothing. They were at the roof, now, the rain pouring down a welcome sight.

The lack of a helicopter, however, was not.

Calvin looked around dazedly, expecting that maybe, just maybe, he didn't see it immediately, then, when he realized it wasn't hiding behind an ac unit, turned to the throng of patients and doctors, soaked by the rain.

"Where's the helicopters?" he asked hoarsely.

One ash-faced doctor turned, wiping rain futilely off his glasses. "They… they left." He replied, barely audible over the rain.

That was not the answer he needed to hear. What he needed to hear is that they were coming in a few minutes, complete with a squadron of the same soldiers who had done the Highground mop-up. 'They left' gave him the impossible conclusion that they, along with hundreds of patients, had been left to the mercies of a madman.

There was a whining screech from behind- a speaker meant for paging medical helicopter staff blared to life.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I want you to take stock of what's happened in the last few minutes. Patients and hospital staff dead. Thousands if not millions of dollars in damage. Your escape route cut off. This is just punishment for your sin of harboring the whore."

Many of those gathered were confused, but others turned to look at Susie, now ash-faced, clinging to her mother.

"However, I am a reasonable man, despite what you might have heard from the lies and slander hurled against me by the whore's armies. If the whore surrenders or is surrendered to me, I will consider the damage done so far sufficient punishment. If she isn't down in the lobby in five minutes, I will detonate a small nuclear bomb. Everything near the hospital will die. Everything miles away will die slower. Sacrifice one life or thousands, it doesn't matter to me."

"Whore of Babylon, if you can hear me, I hope, finally, after so much destruction and death, you understand this is all your fault. You are beyond redemption, but if there is truly any facsimile of charity in you, you will accept your death as just punishment and spare those you have made suffer."

"You have five minutes. Make your ch-"

Calvin squeezed the trigger of the transmogrifier gun and the speaker exploded, his limit for bullshit having been reached long ago. Highweller was willing to use every tool at his disposal to destroy one girl, and didn't care if he took out half the city doing so. If he held back now, either Susie or everyone here would die.

Hopefully, whatever god was paying attention would understand he was sick of letting madmen dictate other people's lives.

He looked towards the crowd. Some were starting to advance towards Susie, others held them back.

"You all honestly believe he has a bomb?" Calvin asked, forcing derision into his voice, trying to sound as if he didn't believe it at all. There was no doubt in his mind that Highweller would and could get a nuke. If not that, then he may just have enough conventional or improvised explosives to collapse the hospital.

"He already set off several-" argued one doctor.

"If he had the bombs he said he did, he would have used them by now and gloated later." Calvin snapped, trying desperately to appear confident, even condescending. "Highweller's out of options- he's **bluffing**, trying to kill Susie before he goes down too. He's lost his town, his show, and what little respect he had left from the nation."

"So what if he doesn't have a nuke?" retorted the same doctor, a young man tending to a patient as best he could despite the driving rain. "He's still got guns and people coming to kill us all, and he's got the rescue teams convinced he's got a bomb…"

"Call them." Calvin ordered. "One of you has a cell, right? Call them, and tell them there's no nuke."

Hesitation and fear showed in the faces of everyone present, Susie's fear, however, had turned to a sort of disbelieving stare.

"If he had a nuke, he would have had his cult-followers set it off already. He wants us to sacrifice Susie, so we'll live knowing we did it for nothing." His stomach knotted itself as he tried to look his audience of drenched hostages in the eyes and not waiver.

If he was wrong in what he thought he could do, everyone here would be ash.

…

Highweller had ordered the elevators brought down to the first floor after realizing that the whore's constituents were using them to evacuate. The upside was that no one would escape his righteous crusade of judgment.

The downside was that he was understanding, with complete and utter clarity, the meaning of the term "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak".

Adrenaline gave way to weariness as he climbed up flight after flight. He had initially planned to sweep each floor on his ascent to make sure no one was spared, but now he saw that was overkill- once the whore was confirmed dead, he would ascend to heaven in a pillar of nuclear fire.

However, the possibility of the whore hiding in some small nook somewhere, going unnoticed if he took the elevator, was too great.

They were on the tenth floor, and the hospital had fifteen.

He suppressed a sigh.

It figured the whore would make him work for it. "We stop for now." He ordered, taking stock of the situation. Continuing to shoot everyone was rather cathartic, but the reality was that the festivities would end soon. If the whore was not delivered, he would detonate the bombs and everyone would die. If she was, he would make her, under pain of detonating the bombs, confess to being a lying slut to the local news, and let the poor bastards listen to her scream as he blew off her fingers, toes, arms and legs one at a time.

Then he would, he had decided, blow the whole hospital up anyway. It was petty, cruel, and spiteful, but Highweller had lost every single luxury his decades of hard work had earned him, and felt perfectly justified in being a petty, cruel, spiteful person.

It was then, sitting there on the tile floor of the fifth floor, surrounded by weary followers and scattered equipment, that Highweller realized that if he was correct, if he was right about Susie being a manifestation of evil, no one would care. Susie would be a martyr. Calvin would no doubt write a tear-jerking eulogy for her, praising her as a saint and damning Highweller as a madman terrorist.

If he was wrong…

He shook his head. He could not go there. He **would** not go there. His soldiers did not need a leader who, at the final hour, scratched his head and asked "do you think maybe we've got it all wrong?". They were all willing to lay down their lives for this last desperate act of retribution.

Retribution for those killed.

There it was, his justification. Hadn't Calvin, at the very least, proven his concerns justified? The whore had an ally willing to kill who was able to sway the masses with honeyed words and boasts. If the children of Newden weren't willing to kill and die for Susie now, given a few months time under Calvin's relentless deluge of propaganda, they would be.

"Sir?" Eric's voice brought him out of his meditations. "Sir, it's been five minutes…"

No confession, then. No submission. No bleeding, screaming harlot begging for mercy at his feet. Just nuclear fire and an end to this whole comedy.

He took the detonator, inhaled, and clicked it-

Any moment now the floor would rush up in a cascade of flaming debris, ripping them to shreds.

A moment became five seconds. Then ten. Highweller clicked the detonator again.

"Um." Eric mumbled, breaking the silence. "Huh. Maybe… maybe the receivers are just unplugged?"

Highweller could feel his blood boiling, threatening to spurt out from his eyes from sheer rage. Crushing the radio in his hand, he barked orders. "Check the bombs. There's a problem."

"Hold on…" there was shuffling and scraping of metal. "Sir…?" There was a tone of disbelief. "The wires are all corroded and the receiver lights are out…"

Eric's mouth hung open, eyes wide with shock and horror as disbelieving stares turned to gawk at him. "The… the…" Highweller restrained, with all his remaining mental power, to not shoot Eric as he turned, eyes blistering with rage, "…where… nuke… is…"

"It… it's the big black metal box." Eric stammered.

More scraping ensued, followed by vehement swearing. "Sir, it's a bunch of glow-sticks wrapped around some roman candles-"

Eric didn't even attempt to defend himself as Highweller hurled the radio at his head, barely seeming to notice the gashed lip it left. "…spent all night making it ready… the bomb… the bomb sir, you have to believe me-"

"Oh, yes, I understand completely, Eric," Highweller couldn't quite hear him over the blood pounding in his ears, nor could he wholly comprehend what he himself was saying. "You killed the killing thing with your stupid. That's what you did. You killed the killing things that we needed to kill the other things and **I WANT YOU OUT OF THIS HOSPITAL NOW!"**

Eric backed towards the stairs, Highweller grabbed him and motioned for the others to as well. "No, no, no, Eric, the stairs are too slow, I said **now.**"

Highweller shot out one of the large windows that provided an overlook of the parking lot below. Floodlights blinded him. The whole world was watching his plan fall apart, piece by piece.

Now it was going to watch Eric fall, and that made perfect sense to Highweller.

It was only after Eric had fallen halfway down that Highweller realized that he'd die on impact, and for a split second he felt sorry until he remembered that if he wasn't going to get to die happy, then neither was Eric. He did, however, realize that as Eric's body fell out of sight and his screaming became inaudible, that detonating the rest of the explosives, which might have at least collapsed the hospital, was going to be a nigh impossible task.

To add insult to injury, he was about to piss his pants.

"Call down, get an elevator up here, tell them to try to set off the bombs however possible. I'm going to use the restroom. Then we're… going to salvage this." Highweller sighed, unable to drum up anything more enthusiastic.

He allowed himself, in the sanctuary of the men's room, to curse everything. Part of him wished he had jumped instead of shoving Eric out. That he might survive, to be mocked relentlessly for his last resort literally consisting of a cheap toys, was a horrible idea. If the remaining bombs could be salvaged to turn the hospital into rubble, that would be enough for him…

It struck him that his expectations for an ideal outcome sunk deeper and deeper with each passing moment now. At the start, he had meant to discredit Susie, ruin her, and return triumphant. Calvin had shot that plan full of holes.

Then he had gone for the gold, attempted to convict her on his own show, execute her, and leave Verdant Junior High a smoldering reminder of what happened to anyone who crossed him. Calvin had put him out of a job and on the lam for that.

And now here he was, denied a final vengeance against the city that had wronged him by a dishonest and sloppy underling.

It did, however, strike him odd. Eric had always taken pride in his explosives being reliable and devastating, and had revered him as one step below God. Surely the man knew such a crude mockery of a device would have earned him a dishonorable death? Unless it was switched…

He shook himself free of these thoughts. Eric clearly blundered the Verdant job, after all, making bombs that could be disabled by a student, no less. That such an addled mind, he saw clearly now in hindsight, would botch an even more important job was something he should have seen coming.

The elevator door was waiting for him as he got out, nine people crammed in the one he was nearest, and another nine in the elevator adjacent. "Hold the door, I'm coming..."

And then the elevators, almost simultaneously, began to drop. He stood there, numb, as he listened to metal screech and watched snapped cables tumble after the descending cars. There was a deafening crash that echoed in the shafts.

Screams came over the radio, still on the floor from where it'd fallen from his beaning Eric. Panicked pleas for Highweller, anyone to respond.

Highweller spitefully kicked the radio into the shaft, hearing it bang against the metal walls all the way down.

Helicopters buzzed in the distance. There was no time for self pity.

He jogged up the stairs, eyes burning at the injustice of it all.

…

Little by little, the helicopters managed to evacuate the patients and doctors in loads at a time, but the doctors had issued a grim mandate.

Susie would be the last to board. It wasn't stated outright, but Susie knew that even if they were willing to risk the bomb being detonated, the sentiment was this was all her fault.

She dimly noticed Calvin at her side, apparently finished with barricading the door to the helipad as much as possible. He looked exhausted, soaked in the cold rain, and miserable, and he wasn't alone in that regard- even among the healthy patients, the cold rain was beginning to take its toll.

Her mother had refused adamantly to board before her, sharp eyes clearly condemning the decision to punish her daughter. Susie had pleaded with her and Calvin to go ahead to no avail.

Part of her was grateful enough to say "thank you." The other part wanted everyone she loved to leave her so they wouldn't be hurt.

Calvin spoke up as a massive military helicopter, so large it needed to hover over the helipad and lift up the disabled, ferried off all but some of the last few hostages. "His bombs were a bluff. We won." He assured her.

"Won?" countered that same, arrogant doctor they now knew to be Samuel Orwells, who had apparently stayed behind to ensure Susie was last to board, "The hospital is wrecked. Innocent people… _more_ innocent people died because you-" he pointed an accusing finger at Susie, "were too much of a coward!"

Calvin shot the man a look of such pure venomous hatred Susie expected Samuel to drop over dead, and she was sure that was Calvin's fondest wish. "She should have handed herself over to Highweller? He set off the bombs, then made his demands. Her surrender wouldn't have changed-"

"Before that!" interrupted Samuel. "If you had done your time, accepted your punishment, Highweller wouldn't have tried to blow up your school or my hospital!" He advanced on Susie, fists balled. "Instead, you did this 'pretty little special princess' shit, and now everyone is dead because you didn't have the fucking guts to shut up and take your medicine, you cowardly bi-"

Her mother's fist connected with Samuel's jaw with such force the crack was audible over the storm, sending the younger man sprawling.

"You expect" Snarled Tina, fists still balled tight, "her to just hand herself over to someone who was hell-bent on torturing her? You expect a girl to let grown men jail, beat to death, or do God only knows what to her?!"

"Better her than everyone else!" Samuel retorted as he held his jaw. "Did you honestly think no one would want to take her down a peg, acting all high and mighty-"

They were interrupted by the sound of another, smaller helicopter landing. With only a handful left, they could easily make it on...

There was a hammering at the door, but the barricade, crudely made of a few spare stretchers, held. Through the narrow glass slit, Susie could see a glimpse of Highweller, no longer smiling his sadist's grin, or glaring hatefully, but wild-eyed and frenzied.

There was a loud bang. Susie immediately had an idea what was going on, even as her mother pulled her to the helicopter- her father talked about breaching doors with shotguns, and Highweller was attempting to do the same with limited success.

She and Calvin were at the helicopter, her mother and Samuel had had just boarded, she climbed up as Calvin helped her…

…and in one moment, she saw the glint of anger and malice in Samuel's eyes as he kicked her, sending her sprawling into Calvin, and they crashed to the wet concrete in a painful heap.

Her mother lunged for her. "SUS-"

BLAM.

As Susie's view came back into focus, she saw Samuel brandishing a small pistol. He turned to the pilot. "Up, now, or I start shooting patients."

Tina weakly tried to crawl out of the helicopter, only for Samuel to pull her back roughly, looking down at Susie.

Calvin recovered quickly, standing up. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" A warning shot from the pistol made him jump back

"This is what you get for being a spoiled brat." snarled Samuel, aiming the pistol at Susie now. "You and your boyfriend die alone. No more bombings, no more people getting shot, just you two dead and Highweller in jail. **I SAID UP!**"

And with Samuel holding Tina back, the helicopter ascended out of reach.

…

Andrew was enraged and grateful for the shoddy police work all at once. It meant he had been unobserved as he snuck into the building, holding the desert eagle that he kept with him instinctively ever since he came home.

The lobby was a mess of blood, scattered papers, bodies and broken glass, a van had apparently rammed through the front doors and parked itself right in front of the receptionist's desk,

There were five of them. Two white men in their thirties, one black woman in her forties, a pot bellied balding man , and one Hispanic male with a goatee , all huddled around some barrels.

They had body armor to some extent- the two males had police vests meant to resist small arms fire, the rest seemed to be wearing hunting vests with metal plating stitched on. They had a decent assortment of weapons, smgs, shotguns, pistols, and Andrew was certain he saw a hand grenade on the Hispanic man's belt.

Not that their arms would be much use to them. They had set them aside on the counters to fiddle with the barrels.

"Dammit, I'm telling you, I'm not the bomb expert here, Eric is… was…" The rotund man fiddled with the wires. "Would it have killed him to explain how these things work?"

"If they were meant to work in the first place. The man's idea of a nuke was glow sticks and firecrackers, what do you expect-"

So they did have bombs. Luckily, they had encountered sufficient technical difficulties to delay detonating them, including what appeared to be sheer stupidity. In any other situation, he might have felt enough pity to simply try to cow them into submission, but in his mind anyone cowardly enough to attack a hospital deserved nothing short of a screaming death.

It was pathetic, even for what he knew to be untrained opponents. The first shot made them all jump, save for the fatman, whose brains splattered one of the two men in police vests, causing him to gag and stagger.

The black woman turned, reached for her smg, knocked it to the floor, and only had time to get off a partial curse before two rounds hit her. One in the neck, one in the arm. She gurgled and went down clutching her neck feebly.

The Hispanic man had only clasped a hand around the grenade when a well aimed round ripped through his right eye, and he fell backward, spasming only slightly.

The unbloodstained turned, blinked stupidly, and was rewarded with a single round to his knee. His leg bent backwards and he fell screaming in agony.

The other man had finished cleaning grey matter out of his eyes to look at Andrew with an expression more befitting a deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"You can live through this." Andrew offered, some semblance of mercy returning to him. "Just don't-"

He blindly grabbed a shotgun by the barrel, and Andrew obligingly emptied the two remaining bullets in his gun into him. One hit him in the shoulder, making him stagger, the other tore through his vest. The .50AE rounds were a cut above whatever cut-rate body armor manufacturer responsible for the vest had accounted for.

He reloaded with a fluid, practiced movement, walked over to the one still alive, a blonde haired man with a slight pudge to him, reloaded, pressed the hot barrel against his head.

"Where's Highweller?" he kept his voice calm and even. He did not need to scream, there would be time for that later, when he had Highweller or any survivors strapped down and immobile, for now he needed coherent answers.

"Ontheroofpleasedon'tkillme-" the man answered quickly, looking not so much at Andrew as he was at the pistol.

A dilemma struck Andrew- he couldn't leave this man alive. The bombs still presented a threat if they were detonated, and if he got his hand on a gun, he'd be a threat when he came back down with his daughter.

Fortunately, his superiors had taught him methods to nonlethally neutralize combatants. With all the practicality of a tradesman, Andrew reached down, rolled the man on his stomach, and grabbed his right arm.

"Hey man, what are you do-"

It only took a swift wrenching motion and, with a scream that defined pathetic, the arm was dislocated. Ignoring the screaming and profanities, the pleas and begging, Andrew took the left, and bent the elbow backwards with a distinct snap.

In under a minute, he'd reduced the man's potential to cause bodily harm or property damage to effectively zero percent.

"YOU GODDAMN SON OF A WHORE! I swear, when I get out of here I'm going to find your bitch of a wife and-"

Andrew fired another round into the back of the man's good knee and left him screaming obscenities. Ordinarily, threats against his wife demanded several hours with a potato peeler to very thoroughly demonstrate why threatening one of the two people who made his world make sense was a bad idea, but he had no time for such niceties.

At the moment, at least. He called the nearest elevator, got on board, and hit the button for the fifteenth floor.

It was only after the doors closed that he realized he'd seen blood leaking out of one of the other elevator doors.

…

Highweller was so stunned by what he saw he almost forgot to fire the final round needed to breach the door.

After so many setbacks, so many failures, so many lost opportunities, an agent of God had stopped the Whore of Babylon's escape cold. That Calvin was here as well did not surprise him, wherever the righteous agents of God suffered, there was Calvin, Lucifer's own errand boy.

Shoving the door aside, he welcomed the cold of the rain, numbing the ache in his body. He had strength enough for this, if nothing else.

"You two…" he began, catching his breath as the storm suddenly increased in intensity, "have cost me everything. My life's work. My reputation. My followers. All gone because of you." Something inside Highweller screamed to just shoot them both now, but he needed this, needed to make them understand just how much damage they had done.

"We've cost you?!" Calvin snapped, indignant. "All the people you've killed… the pain you've caused, and all you can think about is how you've been inconvenienced?!"

"**I EARNED IT ALL!**" He screamed, determined to be heard clearly over the thunder and rain. "I earned every god-damned dollar, every connection, every shred of respect, and you both took it away!" He hefted the shotgun. "But so help me God, I will make sure you don't ruin any more lives. On the charges of conspiracy to taint this nation with lies and falsehoods designed to corrupt the moral fabric our founding fathers established, **I find you both guilty, and sentence you to death!**"

They dodged behind an air conditioning unit as he fired the first round.

So they weren't going to face their judgment with dignity. That was fine with him.

He far preferred to bring justice **to** the criminals, after all.

…

There she was. Tina Derkins, the mother of the daughter who had brought hell to his workplace, turning an uneventful evening into a nightmare. He had the gun leveled at her now, and she shook visibly, but whether from fear or cold, he couldn't tell.

"How does it feel, Mrs. Derkins?" he demanded. "To be mother to one of the most vile, selfish people on the planet?"

"I wouldn't know. My daughter ran a charity drive, you see." She hissed through the pain.

"That's why he's after her!" He raved, brandishing the gun wildly and making those onboard cringe. "Because she insulted him!"

"Please sit down," the pilot shakily pleaded with Samuel as the helicopter rocked. "the storm's getting worse-"

"Shut up and fly!" Samuel jerked the gun to point at the man's head, but he held onto a handle overhead for support, the craft jostled in the wind and rain.

"She insulted him?" repeated a nurse, asian, mid twenties, her hair damp from being drenched in the rain. "By feeding the homeless? Are you out of your fucking mind, Sam?"

"My daughter… hadn't even heard of him before all this…" Tina gasped as the nurse helped apply pressure to her wound.

"That's no excuse!" Samuel howled, alternating between keeping the gun trained on the pilot and Tina. "The moment she found out she was in trouble, she should have apologized and accepted her punishment. Then…" he paused to catch his breath… "…then we wouldn't have so many dead…"

"Look," Tina said, trying to be comforting, "I know you want someone to blame for all this, but Susie isn't that person. It's Highweller who's done all this, not her! So why are you-"

Samuel lunged, jamming the gun to Tina's head. "YOU SAY ONE MORE THING IN HER DEFENSE AND I'LL…"

She kicked out, both feet hitting Samuel in the gut, and he reeled, the wind knocked out of him, his shot punching through the side of the helicopter harmlessly as another gust of wind hit.

He set his right foot down to regain his balance, felt a horrible void where reassuring metal should have been, and suddenly the helicopter was getting smaller, and he reached for it futilely as he fell alongside millions of raindrops.

Samuel had heard theories on whether or not people who fell to their deaths passed out on the way down. The general consensus was that one would be conscious the entire time.

As he approached the unforgiving earth, screaming, he knew that theory to be all too accurate.

…

Shotgun pellets ricocheted overhead as Calvin and Susie scurried from vent to unit, desperately trying to keep behind cover and out of the line of fire.

Fatigue was wearing both sides down. Susie could move at a brisk limp, and Highweller was clearly struggling to keep up. The act of rendering the bombs inert had been draining enough for Calvin at such a long distance. Disabling the nuke had left him gasping for breath. He had left under the pretense of going to the bathroom to check the elevators, saw two were in use, and, panicking, had willed the cables to snap, an act that cost surprisingly little energy but nonetheless aggravated his dwindling reserves.

"All of this is on your head, Whore of Babylon! Do you understand that? Does it register that if you had stopped being selfish and laid down your life, I would have spared the others?!" Highweller's mad ranting came in pained rasps in between shotgun blasts.

He tumbled behind an air conditioning unit as a shotgun blast struck where he was a moment before, and he struggled to get to his feet. Every drop of weight felt heavier now, weighing him down, making every movement more draining. Susie struggled to pull him up, then she froze, horror in her face.

He turned to see Highweller smiling maniacally, aiming the shotgun at him. "You stupid little boy. You could have gotten off with just a few bruises if you'd just stayed quiet."

His hand was in his pocket, squeezing the transmogrifier in a flash, only to feel that horrible twinge he had felt before in the Grindstone facility, the dread signal he was out of whatever power the gun drew on.

He closed his eyes. _So much lost for nothing._ "I'm sorry, Susie."

_Click._

He opened his eyes when no torrent of searing lead split him open. Highweller's eye twitched, his smile waning, as he squeezed the trigger of his shotgun again and again, receiving only empty, hollow clicks.

"God DAMMIT!" He screamed, struggling with the clip, ripping it out and pulling at one strapped on his back. "I swear to God almighty, if it's not one thing it's another…" Calvin saw the revolver in his hip holster, and with his last ounce of energy, rushed Highweller, grabbing at the gun.

The rain and his ascent up the stairs had taken its toll on Highweller, and he staggered back as Calvin tackled him, grabbing at the butt of the revolver, he tugged, kicked, endured Highweller's dogged attempts to beat him into submission with the empty shotgun, and in a moment of elation, the gun came free…

…and Highweller smashed his wrist with the circular clip , making him cry out in pain and despair as the gun skidded away. He turned just in time to meet Highweller's knee slamming into his face, and he slammed back into the concrete roof, head pounding.

When he opened his eyes, Highweller was just finishing clicking the bulky clip into place. "Time to pay for your role in the whore's plan-"

**BLAM.**

"This" **BLAM. **"was" **BLAM. **"NOT" **BLAM. **"MY" **BLAM. "FAULT!"**

Each bullet Susie fired slammed into Highweller's torso, making him stagger, grunt and gasp, and Calvin felt a vindictive sort of elation that Susie would be the one to finally put Highweller down like the mad dog that he was, he had already begun formulating how he was going to spin the tale of how Highweller died…

…and, to his horror, Highweller did not fall, he jerked the shotgun up, fired a wild shot, and Susie screamed.

"Funny story," he rasped in pain, smiling despite the agony he was in. "I nearly left the kelvar vest behind."

Calvin looked back at Susie. As far as he could tell from her crying and holding her side, the blast hadn't been as fatal a wound as it could have been, but any wound for her, now, as Highweller advanced with unholy bloodlust in his eyes, was lethal…

…Calvin knew that rushing Highweller was suicide. Any attempt at escape would be met with a shotgun blast to his back, or worse, nothing at all. He had no energy left for the transmogrifier gun or to fight.

In one final act of defiance, hoping that Susie would take comfort that he wouldn't abandon her, Calvin stagger to his feet and stood in front of her, arms spread to shield her.

Highweller paused, head tilted to one side dazedly, as if he could not comprehend the gesture.

"You want her," Calvin barked, as lightning and thunder made him wince. "you go through me."

Highweller leaned against a vent as he laughed uproariously. "You-" he wheezed for breath, "you think that's going to make a damn bit of difference, boy?"

"Yes." Calvin said, feeling courage- or something very similar- fill him, as he stood there, storm pounding him, steeling himself for death. "Because this won't end here."

Highweller glared at him dumbfounded. "What in the name of God are you talking about? Her lies, your lies, all the bleeding hearts who look up to you, none of it will exist after I kill you!"

"That's just it." Calvin retorted. "You won't just kill us. In the eyes of millions of people, Susie is a selfless saint who encouraged people to help out others in need. I will go down in legend, Highweller, as a boy who saved hundreds of kids and fought a terrorist to the very end, because **that's what you'll be to them.** Not a prophet, not a judge, not a holy warrior. Just a delusional, cowardly terrorist who attacked innocent people because the world didn't offer you an apology and a blowjob when your opinions were challenged."

Highweller shook with fury, face reddened as he struggled to hold his gun steady. "You…" he croaked, too angry to speak "…you godless son of a bitch, do you have any idea who you are talking to?!"

Calvin had several insulting responses ready, but Highweller was having none of it, prodded now into something resembling an elderly temper tantrum.

"I am God's voice! I am of the judges of the Old Testament, deciding who will live, and who will die! I am Moses! I am Samuel! **I am Jesus Fucking Christ, the last representative of God on earth,**" he raved, jabbing his shotgun at the sky, "**AND WHEN I COMMAND YOU TO DIE, I SPEAK FOR GOD HIMSELF!**"

There was a deafening blast and a brilliant phosphorescent light that blinded Calvin, and he stumbled backward, tripping over Susie.

Thousands of blue spots danced before his eyes, and Calvin realized, with a sort of slow joy, he had not been shot in the face as he had believed.

Highweller lay there, smoking, as the rain doused his smoldering clothes.


	9. Judgement

The Trial Of Susie Derkins

Chapter IX: Judgement

…

The final chapter, praise be to Raptor Jesus.

For those who came in late,

Read the other chapters. Hell, read the first story, "Catch 22 syndrome." This chapter will make tons more sense if you do.

I don't own Calvin and Hobbes, Foxtrot, Curtis, etc, and the speech at the end is a dark parody of one from Hellsing.

I like reviews.

…

"_Highweller is nothing new to me."_

"_Oh, the get-up might be a little different, the rhetoric is changed a little, but all in all it's just my dad all over again to me."_

"_Am I surprised he, having displayed such a frightening contempt for children and teens, went after Susie for having done an act of charity? Unfortunately, no, I am not. Such a reaction indicates the lack of maturity needed to accept the idea that one could be potentially wrong. Make no mistake- I will never, ever trivialize the horrific and unforgivable damage Highweller and his allies have caused. But under the façade of a righteous judge and a holy warrior, he is nothing more than a senile, short-sighted old man using his influence and wealth to throw a devastating temper tantrum for no good reason whatsoever."_

"_The majority of the world has heard about how his rampage was sabotaged at every turn- elevator malfunctions killing more than three thirds of his remaining crew, bombs failing to detonate, and, in what is concurred by leaders of multiple faiths to be direct retribution of an angry god, a lightning bolt rendered him unconscious as he held Calvin Halgins and Susie Derkins at gunpoint."_

"_I say it is too flattering to say that Highweller's actions required the direct intervention of God to be stopped. While the victims should be mourned, Highweller's assault on a hospital should not be glorified."_

"_Someone like him, willing to kill innocents to get attention, deserves to die alone and forgotten."_

-Faith X on Simon Highweller.

…

"Struck by lightning." Louis Belary repeated. "You're serious."

"He was waving a shotgun around in a storm on a roof. That's a recipe for human lightning rod if ever I heard one." Calvin sighed.

They were at Calvin's home, then, discussing the events of the hospital attack. The following few days had passed in a daze. He registered some news- that the doctor that had left them to die had fallen to his death, that Susie's mother had been shot but was stable, that Susie would live… and most frustrating of all, that the lightning bolt that had smote Highweller had not killed him.

"You don't sound too thrilled." Louis commented.

"Would it be too much to ask that he be charcoal?"

Louis shrugged. "I think he's wishing it had killed him. Or, at least, he will be."

It dawned on Calvin that he had a point. There would be no greater shame for Highweller to be convicted in a court of law, declared legally wrong, sentenced as he had sentenced so many others. No doubt the old fart was begging God for death right now.

"They'll need you to testify, though it's going to be a formality at this point, with all the security footage the hospital cameras got." Louis noted.

In the following days, Calvin, for the first time in his life, welcomed the schoolwork as the only break his mind got from dwelling on all the deaths, the senseless miseries that Highweller and his cronies had inflicted. Never in his life had he appreciated the mental stress that pre-algebra would give him, until it provided succor from thinking about the patients who had died in the rampage and the memorial shrines at school.

He couldn't stand to go to school. Not now. He had tried for one day, and he had been able to endure the stares and questions, but the stories… the insipid stories where he beat Highweller to a pulp with his bare hands, or challenged him to an old fashioned quick draw, or left him a sobbing wreck with just his words, it was these idiotic fantasies that he was some sort of video game hero, that dwelled on Highweller's defeat and not the lives he'd ruined, that made him beg Spittle to do his classwork at home, and for once in the man's life, something resembling compassion had flickered in his eyes, and he had relented.

His inbox was into the thousands. He had been peppered with so many requests for interviews he had snapped at the last caller, threatening to rip their spine out their urethra and flog them to death with it, a threat simultaneously so horrifically vile and stupidly hilarious that Hobbes, who had taken to guarding his door obsessively, had been torn between a concerned stare and laughter.

The trial day arrived. Calvin made sure he was presentable with a day's worth of fitful sleep and good clothes, but he had a fairly good idea of how the trial would proceed.

And he was right.

…

"It was all Andrew Derkins and Calvin's idea, I swear!" Goffels whimpered as the prosecutor, a redheaded man in his thirties, sighed. It was the 16th attempt at blaming someone else for his involvement.

Calvin glanced at Andrew Derkins, clad in formal military attire, who just pinched the bridge of his nose, too exasperated to be angry with the ludicrous accusation. Goffels had been a hurricane of melodrama, needing to be carried to the witness stand, screaming and crying. He had managed to force a short recess by wetting himself, but Judge Verner had made it clear further theatrics would be considered contempt. It was clear Goffel's reputation had a negative impact on his reputation in jail- he sported a bruised face and a black eye, but he had clearly suffered far less than one would have expected. His right arm was still in a sling, the result of Candace turning his own gun on him.

Candace and her father, Duke Maple, were present as well. At first, Duke had to be restrained for fear he would pummel Goffels to death, but now, he seemed torn between revulsion and amusement as his daughter's kidnapper felt apart, piece by piece. Candace herself watched with what was best described as muted disbelief as the person who could have been her murderer grasped at so many straws.

"Calvin wanted me to take Candace so he could write about it, and Mr. Derkins told me if I didn't do it, Susie wouldn't be valedictorian, and he'd kill me! I was forced, you have to believe me-"

"So the hundreds of witnesses who swear they watched you stuff an unconscious Candace Maple into a duffle and haul her off the stage at Verdant Junior High were all mistaken?" the prosecutor asked sarcastically.

"It's a conspiracy!" Goffels whined, shrinking as far down into his seat as he could. "They wanted me gone and Spittle back so they could go back to the way things were before I came- cutting class, selling drugs in the halls- all I did was call a lecture to calm them down and suddenly Calvin started shooting people left and right, ranting about 'needing the fame'…"

Calvin stared at Goffels incredulously. Surely the man understood, on some level, no one here was buying the ridiculous story he told? Even before evidence had come to light that Highweller had used his connections to have a girl Goffels molested and her family assassinated, his story, having changed fifteen times, beginning with Susie and Candace being engaged in a lesbian suicide pact, had only provoked looks of disbelief from the jurors and judge alike.

"I'll ask one last time, Mr. Goffles." The prosecutor said in a low, angry tone. "How do you explain your actions during your tenure at Verdant Junior High?"

"It… it… it was all Spittle's idea, he-!"

But Judge Verner had clearly had enough. There was no trace of the mercy he had shown Susie, all that he displayed now was a harsh glare and irritation. It was as if Highweller's good twin had stepped in to judge. "Bailiff, take the witness back into custody."

"NO!" Goffels shrieked, making Calvin wince. It reminded him of the stereotypical scream cartoon women gave when they spied a mouse, shrill and piercing. "Please, please! They'll kill me in there! THEY SAID THEY WOULD KILL ME! I DON'T-"

…

"-deserve this!" Moe screamed.

Judge Verner glared down at him. "Given your history of repeat offenses and your intimate knowledge of the law's loopholes, I have little choice. You will be tried as an adult for your role in these crimes."

Calvin tried to show no overt satisfaction in the look of horror on Moe's face. The idea of lasting consequences for his sadistic actions was clearly an alien concept Moe's brain couldn't process.

"It's not my fault!" Moe yelled, looking about the room for a sympathetic face. "I was just doing what I was told, until Mr. Kill-em-all there-" he pointed to Calvin, who obligingly smiled, "came up behind me and shot me in the leg!"

"…and during this incident, were you not assisting the community of Highground in illegally detaining Susie Derkins?"

Moe blinked. "Huh?" he replied, confusion readily apparent.

Calvin felt a twinge of pity for the prosecutor, who ran a hand through his red hair with an overt sigh. Clearly the man had overestimated Moe's vocabulary. "When you were shot, weren't you helping Highweller's town keep Susie hostage?"

"Yeah, so he could put her on trial and then execute her-"

Moe realized he shouldn't have said that as a wave of gasps rippled through the courtroom, silenced by repeated smacks of the gavel. Calvin glanced at Susie, and she shot back a look that spoke, _"What did you expect from Moe?"_

"It's what he ordered me to do!" protested Moe, screaming now. "I was-"

…

"-just following orders!" Joe punctuated each word by banging on the witnesses' stand.

The attorney gave Joe Caldern an unconvinced look. "Mr. Caldern, surely someone with your experience in law enforcement would know that Susie was well out of Highweller's jurisdiction, not to mention the gross illegality of the methods you used in your attempts to silence Calvin Halgins…"

"You see, that's the problem!" Joe pleaded. "I'm supposed to fight dangerous murdering thugs like him by the book?"

"Calvin's killings all took place while he was being shot at. Yours took place in a school." A concise rebuttal and an effective one. He'd have to use that, Calvin decided.

"What about my son? Have you seen what he did to him?!" Joe protested. "He's a cripple now!"

"Your son had, just the other day, willingly and knowingly assisted in the abduction of Susie Derkins and the attempted bombing of Verdant Junior High." Countered the prosecutor.

"We had to take her! She's a threat to society, trying to blind and deceive people with her…" Joe stopped, suddenly, having gone rather pale, and Calvin traced his horrified stare back to Andrew Derkins, who wore what to Calvin appeared to be a professional level poker face. There was no apparent malice in Andrew's stare… in fact, there didn't seem to be _anything _in his stare, and for a moment Calvin wanted to check and make sure the man was still alive.

"Nevermind." muttered Joe quietly. "Nevermind."

Calvin recalled vividly the screams Joe had made when he was at the military base. While there was no question in his mind that Joe would be the one to deserve 'enhanced interrogation methods', there was equally no question that he was better off not knowing what memory of agony could possibly cow Joe Caldern, the stereotypical "big man" corrupt cop, into quiet submission. He glanced back at Andrew several times, but his expression never changed.

…

"I did it because Calvin is demonic." Deetra Kalen stated succinctly.

The prosecutor, taken aback from the lack of theatrics thus far, pressed on. "Demonic?"

"You should have seen his homework papers. Poked full of holes. He was planning to murder me, it was very obvious. He started by getting me fired. If I hadn't done what I did, I'd be dead." For someone who months ago had been reduced to screaming hysteria, Kalen held an eerie calm as she gave her explanation.

"Ms. Kalen, you do realize it was nothing Calvin said, but your being caught in a deliberate attempt to deceive Mr. Spittle as to Calvin's behavior that got you dismissed, do you not?"

"The lies were necessary." Kalen retorted, teeth clenched. "My classroom, my kingdom. If I can't decide what is true and what isn't, I can't teach."

"Ms. Kalen, you can say two and two make seventeen all you want, but that doesn't make it so-"

"**IT SHOULD!**" Kalen screeched, her façade of calm shattering so rapidly it made Calvin jump. "I should be the one who decides who is right and who is wrong, who passes and who fails! You're just like him!" she pointed frantically at Calvin, "trying to undermine authority! Poison! You're all poison, trying to bring me down, drag me down and make me obey those ungrateful little shits, _waaaaaaah,_" and here Kalen did a very blatant mocking voice, "_the work is too hard, Miss Kalen. You're being mean, Miss Kalen. Why do we have to write so many numbers, Miss Kalen?!_ Every goddamned day, more kids poisoned by that little brat's propaganda, if you had any decency you'd have let me finish the job- LET GO OF ME!" She screeched as the bailiff grabbed her as she tried to climb over the witness stand. "I AM A TEACHER! I AM A GODDESS! I AM-"

…

"-**above** the law!" Highweller asserted triumphantly. He still shook from whatever nerve damage the lightning had done, but no amount of injury, it seemed, could reign in Highweller's pride.

The prosecutor looked to the judge. "Mr. Highweller, answer the question or I will find you in contempt." Verner ordered, and Highweller gave a wounded, betrayed sort of look, as if he had been expecting professional courtesy.

"Why," repeated the prosecutor, "did you campaign against Susie Derkins?"

Highweller stared at him blankly. "You… you…" he looked around, very clearly alarmed. "…you all really **don't** get it do you?" When no one gave an affirmation or denial, he continued, quite flustered. "It's an obvious ruse." He explained, dismayed no one else had come to this conclusion beforehand. "She puts up this façade of a smiling Samaritan, gets all the kids in her school involved, and suddenly everyone in town thinks an entire school's worth of amoral adolescents are incapable of doing wrong! Then, when the town is worshipping her and her followers, they have control. They can steal. They can cheat. They can even murder, and no one will dare speak out against them!"

No matter how many times he heard Highweller's reasoning, that Susie was the Whore of Babylon with a grand scheme of deception, it sounded crazier to Calvin each time. He looked back at Andrew Derkins, and immediately looked away with a shudder. The man was wearing what should have been a smile but wasn't, and for a brief moment, Calvin felt a pang of pity for Highweller should Andrew ever have a moment alone with him.

"Mr. Highweller, do you have any proof any illegal activity was planned?" the prosecutor asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"She was deceiving the entire town for the sake of future ransacking!" Highweller roared. "If that's not illegal, I don't know what is!"

"Did you ever consider," asked the prosecutor, disbelief in his voice, "that Susie may have simply been doing a good deed?"

"Even if she was so delusional and vain as to think her actions would have any positive effect on those bums, the damage she did still stands. If she doesn't exploit this smokescreen, someone else will! So it doesn't matter if she's evil or stupid, the Whore of Babylon must still die!"

"Even with that mentality," asked the prosecutor, turning to face both Highweller and the jury, "how do you justify your killing students, teachers, and patients-"

"THAT IS ALL ON YOUR HEADS!" shouted Highweller, standing up suddenly. "The whore's head, Calvin's head, all of your heads, those deaths are your punishment for siding with the concubine of Satan! And if you don't have the strength of spirit needed to slay her, then by God I will-" he grabbed the chair behind him, clearly trying for one last attack on her, but he staggered as he hefted the chair, and the bailiff obligingly tackled and handcuffed as murmuring and whispers filled the court.

"Let go of me." He demanded, feebly struggling. "Let go of me! I have a mission! I alone am the last righteous man on this sullied earth! LET ME GO! YOU CAN'T -"

…

"DO-" Moe was brought down hard as he tried to pry his way out of the guard's grasp after making a desperate sprint for the courtroom door.

…

"THIS -" Kalen thrashed wildly, forcing the guards and bailiff to pin down her legs as she tried to kick free.

…

"TO-" Goffels wailed as he was dragged off by the bailiff, desperately trying to shake free as tears streamed down his face.

…

"…me." Joe feebly whimpered as he buried his head in his hands.

…

There was no vindication to be gained from having correctly predicted how the courtroom drama of the defendant's testimonies would play out. The rants differed a little here and there, but the gist of each defendant's story had been that they, and they alone, were so special, so perfect, that the law did not apply to them the same way it did to all the lesser beings they shared the planet with. He was, disturbingly, reminded of himself at six years old, a singularity of entitlement bolstered by a staggeringly large vocabulary, but he consoled himself with the fact none of his tantrums resulted in death.

The trial would take several months, he and Susie, still recovering, were due to testify, but mostly due to deliberation as to how many charges would be filed and against whom, but Louis spelt out the likely results to Calvin.

"Life in prison or lethal injection. Probably two years in juvenile hall and then life for Moe."

Calvin read Louis' face and knew what he was thinking- Moe's life expectancy would dramatically decrease the moment he set foot back in juvie. If he survived two years, it would exponentially plummet when he went to prison proper.

He recalled how, once, after he had been pummeled by Moe again in his youth, he had hoped that when he was successful and he was in prison, he wouldn't be too mature to gloat.

Moe had arrived in prison decades before Calvin expected, and yet he couldn't muster the energy to gloat in the slightest.

…

**DECEMBER 1st**

"State your name for the jury."

It was a pointless formality. The moment he had been called up to the witness stand, murmurs had broken out, dying only with the angered cracking of Verner's gavel.

Nonetheless, he complied. There was nothing to be gained from being found in contempt of court. "Calvin Halgins."

"How long have you known Susie?" asked the prosecutor, turning to Calvin.

"Eight years." Eight years, more or less. For three of those he had been an unholy terror to her.

"Mr. Halgins," and Calvin found the formal addressing helped him not one bit, "you were at the charity drive Susie organized of your own volition, correct? To do a school report?"

"Yes." Calvin was succinct, Louis had advised him to be so, even when questioned by the prosecutor.

"During any point at that time, did you hear or sense any indication that Susie knew of Highweller's stance and was doing the drive solely to spite him?"

"No. As far as I could tell, she just wanted to do something nice." Short, to the point. The man acting as Highweller's defense attorney, a balding man with black sideburns, was watching him like a hawk, looking for weaknesses.

"You have been a staunch advocate of hers since the lecture, correct?" asked the prosecutor gently. "Did you encounter opposition for this?"

"Yes." Calvin responded, still keeping one eye on the defense, and one on Susie, who was watching him with a worried expression as her father held her hand.

"Would you explain to the court the things that happened to you prior to the attack on the hospital?"

So he told them, as best as what he felt was a damningly finite vocabulary would allow, the attempts made to silence him. How Marrin, who he knew now to be dead at Highweller's hand, refused to hear his testimony. How his omnijournal account had been shut down. How Moe and Joe Caldern had tried to murder him in a bathroom and a camera had been rigged up to catch them in the act. How Spittle had been dismissed days later. How Goffels had tried to force him, under threat of expulsion, to surrender his passwords and declare everything he'd written about Susie and Grindstone were lies.

When he described how Kalen had, at Goffels' command, tortured him for information, he noticed Susie had buried her hands in her face, crying openly, faces of shock and fury on her parents' faces. His mother was weeping and dabbing at her eyes, and his father's face held a rage he had never seen before. Several jurors were staring dumbfounded as he told them how he had been beaten mercilessly in an attempt to extract his passwords. Even the prosecutor seemed taken aback at the recounting of the tale.

"…after that happened, you were called back to school by Goffels?" asked the prosecutor, still aghast at the description of how Kalen had tried to cut off his fingers.

"Yes. First day back, he called me into his office, told me he was disappointed in me, and demanded I turn over my passwords and apologize or he'd make sure I never graduated."

"That was… three days before the attempted bombing of Verdant?"

"Yes." He should have seen it coming, the attack. He'd put a fatal shred of trust in Goffels, in the assumption that there was some shred of humanity that would stop short of assisting mass murder to get what he wanted. That he was a pedophile came as little surprise.

"Nothing further." The prosecutor added as he stepped back to his seat. He had stopped short of the one thing, a very significant thing, that could damage Calvin's testimony, but as the defense attorney stepped forward, Calvin knew there would be no such nicety.

"Calvin," and for some reason the informal addressed irked him, was he going crazy? "would you say you have gone to extremes to defend Miss Derkins?"

Calvin dug for a defensive response. "I would say we all have."

"But it was you, as your own testimony states, who was willing to endure torture, assassination attempts, and threats to make sure she was defended." The prosecutor countered, and there was a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"You were even willing to maim and kill to ensure she got off, weren't you? It didn't matter if it was a boy just three years older than you or a handful of adults, anyone who threatened Susie in the slightest had to die, didn't they?"

"They kidnapped her and tried to blow up our school to cover it up." Calvin replied. "And then there was Highweller gloating, on video, which I believe we have as evidence- we do?- Yeah, him gloating about how he was going to coerce her into confessing to whatever he wanted in exchange for not blowing us up, then kill us all anyway. So I made the crazy assumption they wouldn't listen to polite requests."

"I'm not saying their actions weren't threatening," the attorney responded, "but you've displayed incredible eagerness to throw yourself into danger if it means benefitting her. Would you clarify for the court your relationship with Susie Derkins?"

The prosecutor rose. "Objection, your honor, relevance-"

"Your honor, the motives of why Calvin would go to such extremes is pertinent to this case-"

"Overruled. You may continue." Verner ruled.

The defense smiled. "Your answer, Mr. Halgins?"

Calvin looked at Susie for a brief second. "She's a good friend."

"A good friend? A friend that rewards or offers to reward you for your assistance in, say, the beaming report you did about her in your school newspaper? Or for running smear campaigns against her enemies?" The attorney's voice took on a caustic edge now. "What was she giving you? A handjob for the article and oral for every time you helped…"

"OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR, THIS IS OBSCENELY-"

"Answer the question, Calvin! Was she bribing you sexually for your assistance?!" Andrew looked ready to tear the attorney limb from limb as he rose, Susie beet red and looking down at the floor…

"YOUR HONOR-" the prosecutor was on his feet as Verner cracked his gavel. "Sustained!..."

"ANSWER THE QUESTION!" demanded the attorney over the chaos.

For a moment, Calvin wanted to murder this monster, this sleazeball of a lawyer in the most horrific way possible… then, as if someone, some_thing_ had whispered the idea to him, his rage vanished…

"I have to ask, sir- just how much time have you spent fantasizing about two minors engaged in hypothetical sex bargains?!" Calvin retorted, putting a great deal of revulsion and shock into his voice.

"I…" the attorney withered as everyone- Susie, her parents, Calvin's parents, the jury, all assembled looked at him expectantly, as to hear a reason.

"Why is it, that when examining my motive for helping to defend an innocent girl who has been nothing but charitable to her community, you immediately come to the conclusion she's bribing me with sex? My answer is, of course, no, no bribes or rewards besides a 'thank you' were offered **or **expected. My sole gratification was aiding someone I had been a bully to when we were kids, but I have to profess my concern that the first thought you seem to have drawn from my assisting her is that we were involved in elaborate sex exchanges! Are you **that **lonely?"

Susie buried her face in her hands again, this time desperately trying to stifle laughter, Andrew had sat back down, amused by the direction this had taken. Betty Halgins' mouth hung open, dumbstruck by what she must of considered was a new level of audacity by Calvin.

Several times the attorney tried to speak, failed, and eventually walked back to his desk with a weak "Nothing further." Some jurors were snickering, others looked fairly put off. Highweller, sitting at the table, handcuffed and battered, shot Calvin a look of pure loathing and went back to burying his head in his hands.

Verner looked at Calvin with narrowed eyes, drumming his fingers on his desk, clearly unamused. "The jury will interpret Mr. Calvin's response as a simple negative to the question. I want further speculation from the defense _and the witnesses_ kept to a bare minimum."

…

"Susie Derkins, why did you begin the charity drive?" asked the prosecutor.

"Because I recently got a hundred dollars for my birthday, and when I told my friends, one said she'd never gotten any money for her birthdays because her family couldn't afford it."

"So you donated your money and time out of… altruism? Guilt-" and Highweller's eyes flared hopefully, "-that your friends weren't as lucky?" and his eyes returned to their normal sullenness.

"Because I didn't know how bad she had it, and it hit me- I'd always thought poverty happened to someone else." Susie meant it genuinely, it was the most concise method she had of explaining her myriad of motives for the charity.

"So you had no idea Highweller even existed?"

Susie shook her head. "No," she replied, noting the look of fury and hatred in Highweller's face as his hands clenched and unclenched. Even after being electrocuted nearly to death in what many were calling a "the backhand of God", he had shown no remorse for his actions. "I knew nothing about him until he showed up to… rant at us."

"What did he say, during the lecture, was his motive for coming to your school?"

"He said," and Susie felt ridiculous now, back then, the feeling of humiliation and shame of being called such horrible things was overwhelming, but now she had a different perspective... "that 'they weren't fooled'. That we were incapable of altruistic acts and that I had done it as a cover up for crimes."

"You were arrested during the lecture, correct?"

"Yes," and she felt the still-healing wounds ache as she recalled, painfully, slowly, how she had been beaten twice, once during the lecture, when Calvin and Heighs had tried to intervene. How her 'interrogation' had been nothing but Moe and Joe kicking her in the stomach, beating her with a nightstick, throwing her against a wall. When she paused to look up, Calvin was shaking with rage, glaring at Highweller with eyes full of hatred. Her father, however, was calm save for the twitching of his eyes, as he looked at Highweller, as if he was sizing him up.

The description of her ordeal had gotten to the jury- some were wiping their eyes. "Susie, on another topic, what's your relationship with Calvin?"

She blushed beet red before she realized what he meant. "…we know each other. Lived in the same neighborhood for years."

"Friends?"

Susie paused. Dishonesty was a fatal mistake here. Hoping he wouldn't be too offended, she spoke. "We are now. Back then, he was a jerk."

Calvin smiled, a forced smile, but then his gaze was back on Highweller, and Susie knew he couldn't _be _offended, he was too focused on what he wanted to do to the judge…

"Did you expect him to do all this?" asked the prosecutor.

"No…" responded Susie truthfully, "but I'm not surprised he's the one that did it." She looked at Calvin, who had stopped glaring at Highweller. Eyes wide, looking back at her, he flushed pink, blinked several times.

"No further questions." The prosecutor went back to his seat, smiling broadly.

The defense attorney stood only briefly, clearly aware of the state of his case. "Your honor, the defense rests-"

Highweller stood, face livid. "NO, WE DO NOT! This trial has been a cavalcade of lies and slander against honest, God-fearing men such as myself, and I will not sit here and be silent while this WHORE-"

"Highweller, control yourself or I will find you in contempt-" warned Verner.

"You'll find **me** in contempt of court?! Do you not see-" he waved handcuffed hands at Calvin and Susie "-what they have reduced me to? That they made my actions necessary? If that whore, that Jezebel had submitted to her punishments without struggling, if she had dismissed her personal foot-soldier Calvin and stood trial, none of this would have happened!"

"**None of it?!**"

Susie suddenly realized she had spoken, and rage replaced pain and shame, and she vented every word she had withheld, every angry thought she'd reigned in-

"You ordered your men to kill students just to show what would happen if anyone fought back. Then you set bombs to level the school and kill everyone inside. Then you lied to me, telling me I would have to accept my punishment or you'd detonate the bombs when you were willing all along to kill _thousands of innocent people!_ And for **what?! **Because you didn't **think** I was being completely altruistic?"

Highweller for once, was stunned, unable to speak, and Susie felt the words rush from her like so much bile…

"It's about the power, isn't it?" she snarled, and Highweller jerked like she had when he had begun lecturing. "You became a judge to have power over people, and the people who had the least power, the least resources to fight back when you went after them- kids, teens- they're your favorite targets, because they usually don't have the resources to fight back! And it's not enough to just be above them, you have to grind them down into the dirt every chance you get, make the world hate them as much as you do! That's why you hired Moe and hated me, isn't it!? Because the charity drive made the kids who participated look good, _**and you couldn't stand people thinking of us as any better than thugs and whores!**_"

Highweller stood there, shaking, not so much furious as stunned.

Verner shouted and demanded order, but only silence followed in the wake of Susie's lamblasting.

…

For the people of Newden, Ohio, retribution was a high priority. The trials of those involved in what was quickly becoming known as the "Highweller Attacks" were done swiftly and by the book, but there was no doubt as to whether or not those accused would be found guilty.

Not even Deetra Kalen, whose attorney tried to get her off on insanity, was given any sympathy. She was found fit to stand trial and sentenced to life in prison, raving and ranting daily until stunned or beaten into submission.

Jeremy Goffels was sentenced to life for both his role in the Verdant Junior High raid and the kidnapping of Candace Maple. After spending his first day in prison, he was nearly beaten to death in the showers. Those involved in the assault alleged that in their youth, they had been sexually abused. Goffels' became a quadriplegic due to the injuries sustained, confined to a prison hospital bed for the remainder of his days.

Highweller was sentenced to death by lethal injection by unanimous decision of a jury. The appeal he filed fell on deaf ears. There was simply too much evidence of his cold, calculated methods of destruction and sadistic disregard for the lives of others for anyone to consider granting him such a mercy. Those few who survived the raid of Highground were given life sentences or death, and the town itself became a target for looters. In one week, everything not nailed down that could possibly be of value was taken. In four more, houses and equipment had been stripped down for copper and materials. What remained was a gutted corpse of a ghost town.

Brian Marrin's estate was liquidated to pay for the damages he was held accountable for. His funeral was attended by only a priest, and his body buried in an unmarked grave to avoid vandalism.

Joe Caldern, for his actions, was sentenced to life as well, despite begging during sentencing for the death penalty. While his attorney filed charges accusing the soldiers who responded to the Highground raid of torturing Joe, nothing ever came of it- there was simply too much outrage at what Joe had been party to for him to be viewed as anything resembling a victim.

Moe Caldern was sentenced to juvenile hall until eighteen, whereupon he would be transferred to the local prison for fifteen years. Even with the blatant disregard he showed for the damage he'd caused, the jury and Judge Verner felt he could be rehabilitated. Whether or not this was true, however, quickly became a moot point.

He was stabbed to death by multiple assailants during lunch.

On receiving news of Moe's death, one anonymous letter to the Newden Times summarized the feelings of many in six words.

"_Good riddance and burn in hell."_

With their need for vengeance as satiated as possible, those affected by the rampage began to rebuild. The hospital was restored. Memorials were held.

But the definition of normalcy for many was changed irrevocably.

…

**DECEMBER 8****th**

There were a number of things that screamed "long day" to Calvin. Math Projects. Math tests. Anything to do with math. Surprise parent-teacher conferences. Police cars. People of authority coming to your school.

So when the Mayor of Newden came to his house with two police officers in tow, both of whom Calvin recognized as having abandoned their posts guarding Susie's room, Calvin knew his Saturday wouldn't be restful at all.

Leonardo Palenski was a pretty boy with a $500 dollar haircut, a suit that had to have cost half most people's yearly wages, and a smile that, at least for Calvin, inspired horrible fantasies about smashing him in the face with a shovel.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've come here." He began once they were all seated, Calvin's parents on either side of him on the sofa. The police remained standing on either side of Palenski.

"It does give one a bit of wonder when the mayor invites himself inside your home." Calvin replied. "To what do we owe this honor?"

"I'll get to the point, because I've kept tabs on you, Calvin, and like me you're a busy man, even on the weekends. This city needs a positive image boost. We had a great one with Susie rallying an entire school to help the homeless, but… as you can probably guess," and he smiled with a joking air that made Calvin's shovel fantasy all the more appealing, "the whole Highweller business has given the impression that Newden is a gathering place for lunatics."

"I imagine," Calvin spoke gratingly, civility bleeding out of him every second he was forced to look at that grin, "that the news regarding the police's inability to protect persons assigned to their care isn't helping much." Memories of being kidnapped by fake police officers were still fresh in his mind, along with the much more recent antics of Joe Caldern, allowed back onto the police force on the sole word of a judge.

"Ah. Yes. Well," his grin faded a little and one of the policemen, a blonde with short hair, shifted uneasily. "you clearly see where I'm coming from. Right now, we have a reputation. A bad one. That we are a city that lives by the adage "No good deed goes unpunished", when we clearly aren't."

"And yet," now Betty spoke, "A girl does a charitable act, is beaten, arrested, and tried all in the same day after being raved at by a madman from out of state, and it takes a month before anyone starts to realize that something's wrong."

Palenski frowned and was silent for several moments, and Calvin felt a deep gratitude that his mother had finally stopped that grin.

"I won't deny there have been lapses in how things should have been done. That was then. This is now. Which brings me to my request. We need another charity drive done, and we need it spearheaded by Susie Derkins."

Calvin stared blankly, wondering why he would talk to him about needing a favor of Susie Derkins, when he finally put two and two together.

"You want me" Calvin began slowly, "to ask a girl who has been put through the year from hell to do another charity drive."

"You have to understand my position." said Palenski quickly. "It doesn't matter if I'm asleep. It doesn't matter if I'm on vacation in Europe. Whenever anything goes wrong in Newden, it comes back to me."

"I **do** get that." Calvin responded. "Believe me, I understand people expect you to be Jesus and solve everything instantly. But do you see where I'm coming from? You want me to go over and ask a girl who has been beaten, arrested, humiliated, kidnapped, beaten some more, and shot multiple times, and is still receiving hate mail to suck it up and do another charity event. Yeah, in a logical sense, it would raise morale, but she's been bled dry. And on a side note- I already got interrogated by her father once. The man is terrifying, and that was when he knew I saved her life."

Palenski, for once, seemed to absorb what was being said rather than react defensively.

"On that note, do you understand where Susie's coming from? Where she **is**? She did something good for the community, and it got her nothing but pain. Then, when she was injured and needed people to stand guard over her, to protect her from Highweller's goons, the people assigned to protect her ran for their lives!"

He looked at the two officers, and they would not meet his eyes.

"Then there's the kids that rallied behind her. Thirteen students, dead. All present at the drive. They're still trying to cope with the fact they'll never see them again. If I tried to get them to rally again for the sake of the city's reputation, they'd either laugh me out of the school or riot."

Palenski did not react as Calvin thought he would. There was no rage, no more condescending smile or words, no threat, just a sad nod of understanding that what he was requesting was impossible. The policemen were less understanding, deep frowns turning to scowls, yet they still couldn't- or wouldn't- meet Calvin's gaze.

"If you want good PR," Calvin called as they walked to the front door, "if you want to show the world that you are not running a town where good deeds are criminally prosecuted, then maybe you should rally those in authority to pick up where Susie left off."

Palenski looked back at him.

Calvin shrugged. "It's just a thought."

Palenski made a noise that sounded like a 'hmm.' Whether it was dismissive or contemplative, Calvin was unsure and didn't find out. Policemen trailing him (and giving Calvin a nasty look as they did), he left out the door without even an angry gesture.

"Why did he need to bring two armed officers with him?" asked Derrick, locking the door as soon as they had left.

"I think he was worried I might try to kill him the moment he asked the favor." Calvin shrugged.

And, to be fair, given his initial mood at the start of the meeting, that hadn't been too far fetched a concern.

…

"_There was a memorial service held at Verdant Junior High for the students and teachers killed. I felt I should attend, it's the least I can do for innocent people who were gunned down simply because a sadist wanted to make a point."_

"_I expected for some level of anger to be directed at me, or Susie, or even Candace. Instead, the parents and family of those who were killed came up and thanked me, because they can at least take comfort that the death toll was limited to their loved ones and not the entire school."_

"_What meetings absolutely must be done are done in the cafeteria. The wounds are still too fresh for most of us to enter the auditorium. Spittle is trying to keep things as sane as humanly possible, but no one can focus on tests right now."_

"_Moe's old locker keeps getting defaced. Most of its vulgarities or wishes for him to burn in hell. There's one word that the janitors won't scrub off, though. "Traitor." And to be honest, it's a pretty damn accurate accusation."_

"_This will be my last year here. I pity whoever comes here in the fall of next year. A lot of parents are considering pulling their kids out."_

"_No one wants to go to the 'murder school'."_

Calvin Halgin's latest blog entry

…

**DECEMBER 15****th**

"You given any thought to what you want for Christmas?" Calvin heard Hobbes ask.

Snow blew against his window as he stared out onto the ice-slicked streets.

"I want an explanation from God for all this bullshit." Calvin responded. It couldn't be that huge a request. Was it so wrong to want to know why so many people had to die before Highweller was finally brought down?

"Asshole plus a scapegoat plus a lot of gullible idiots equals catastrophe? Highweller had power in the form of judicial authority. He had an audience made up of adults who wanted a scapegoat for their problems. He used teens and kids. Susie inadvertently proved him wrong, so he rallied the biggest assholes he could find- Moe, Joe, Marrin, Goffels, Kalen, and every last one of his fanclub village- and declared war on her." Hobbes explained, rolling over on the bed to look at Calvin. "I'm sorry, but that's it. That's the best explanation you're going to get. Give someone power, an audience, and an entitlement complex and you've got trouble."

"But why Susie?" Calvin asked, exasperated. "I get the… idea that he saw her charitable actions as a challenge. It's insane, but I get it. But why punish her instead of, I don't know, demanding she prove she's genuine? Or asking why she did it? What was the point?"

"The point was to shut her up." Hobbes retorted. "You're not getting this. Highweller raged because he **liked to be angry.** He didn't want law-abiding children. He didn't want discipline. He didn't want to change anything. He wanted children angry and resentful of those in authority so that they'd rebel and he could continue punishing them. That's why he punished Susie, Calvin- because she upset the status quo."

Calvin stood there, staring at Hobbes. Was that the reason behind these months of terror and destruction? That Susie had shook Highweller's world ever so slightly, and he feared losing his reason to be angry?

"If every kid and teen obeyed the law to the letter, people like Highweller would just make up reasons to have them arrested and punished. Some people don't have reasons for being angry. They haven't been wronged themselves, nor do they care about anyone that has been wronged. Some people hate because they **want **to hate."

The silence that followed as Calvin considered this information might have been minutes or hours, he wasn't sure.

…

"_I remember Moe Caldern quite clearly."_

"_Always polite to me. Always had an apple. Always said "Yes ma'am." Didn't have the highest IQ, but I believed he was good at heart."_

"_Years after he'd left my classroom, I hear about him torturing kids and trying to kill Calvin, and I was certain that it was all baseless mud-slinging. It couldn't be my Moe."_

"_Then I saw the tape of him kicking open a bathroom stall door and trying to kill Calvin Halgins, a boy I believed to be incorrigible. I heard about him tasering kids in the hallways for no reason. I heard how he stood by, laughing, as his fellow students were gunned down."_

"_I wish… I wish I had looked a little closer. I didn't want to believe the most polite student I had was the most devious. That he would be the one out of all the children I taught to betray his own school. Maybe if he'd been held accountable, he would have become a genuinely decent person. Or maybe he'd drop the act, and we'd all be forewarned."_

"_And maybe either way, I wouldn't have heard about him being stabbed to death in a juvenile detention center while guards just watched."_

"_Plenty of people are saying he deserved worse. Maybe he did. He did do terrible things and was willing to help kill hundreds of children his age. Maybe he was, from the very start, unredeemable."_

"_But once a teacher, always a teacher, and when you see a student having gone so wrong, you can't help but wonder what part you had in that."_

From an interview with Julia Wormwood at Barker's Bar.

…

**DECEMBER 21****th**

Death Row had not treated Simon kindly.

Once it became evident the guards weren't going to step in to save him for anything short of a life-threatening beating, assaults were no longer a matter of "if", it was only "when" and "where".

Sometimes it was in, of course, the showers, being slammed against tiled walls and kicked until he coughed blood. Other times it was in the cafeteria, heaved out of his seat and stomped on until guards grew tired of watching the inmates play kickball with his ribcage and threatened to taser the participants.

Today was different, however. Today he had a visitor, and whoever it was made no difference. A visitor meant a period where he was not in immediate danger of getting slammed into a wall face first, having his groin trodden on, or any other indignities.

He was led, hands and feet cuffed, to a window with a phone, and he had only sat down, gotten himself situated so that his every fiber wasn't burning with pain, when he saw who was on the other end.

Susie Derkins. Still bruised. Still very tired. But not dead, not broken.

His immediate impulse was to demand to be taken back to his cell, but curiosity, horrible curiosity, forced him to stay, to pick up the phone.

"Why," Highweller choked out, unable to form coherent thoughts for a few seconds, "in the name of God are you here?"

Susie's response was to close her eyes. "Because no matter how much I hate you, no matter how much my parents hate you, no matter how much my city hates you, my faith requires me to offer you one last chance."

Highweller sat there, stunned, looking at her with what must have been the most incredulous look anyone had ever given her in her life.

"There's a lot of guesses why you hate me. Most of them vary a little, but end with 'you're an asshole.' I honestly thought," and here Susie smiled self-deprecatingly, "that maybe, you were Satan himself. That was the only reason I could think of that you would hate me, hate _anyone_ for doing a small act of kindness."

Highweller exhaled in what might have been a laugh in spite of himself. It was, in the sickest sense of irony, completely sensible that a girl like her could see him as the devil. Wasn't that the most effective way to psychologically brace for a war? Dehumanize the foe. Believe them to be sub-human.

"But I got this theory from Calvin, and aside from you being Satan or one of his generals, it's the only thing that makes sense."

Susie looked him in the eyes. "You can't feel anything but hate. Your life has been based on nothing but hating teens and children and spreading that hate. You hate because that's all you know how to do. So it doesn't matter to you if you see a child breaking the law or planting trees, does it? The only reaction you have, the only reaction you've _conditioned_ yourself to have, is rampant hatred and suspicion."

"That's why you let Moe join, didn't you?"

Highweller jerked back, causing spasms of pain to course through his spine. "Moe was obedient." He retorted. "Moe knew that the only thing that could get through to thugs was-"

"Punishment." Susie finished. "Moe was so ready to punish everyone around him, he must've seemed like a 'mini-me' to you. Was that the other reason? To have a protégé, because you have no sons? Someone to carry on your message of hate?"

Highweller stared back. "Moe is the only redeemable person I saw in that school of yours-"

"Was." Susie corrected sadly.

_Was?_ He looked quizzically at Susie, whose sorrow was quickly boiling away into a cold glare, a judging gaze that Highweller recoiled from even as he envied it's piercing power.

"Moe was stabbed to death in juvenile hall, because he sided with you." There was no blunting of the accusation now, there was a quiet, but fierce fury in Susie's eyes, and he recoiled involuntarily. "You have done nothing to teach children about obeying the law or caring for their fellow men, all you have done is teach them that no good deed goes unpunished, and how to hate. Whenever a new charity comes up, whenever they have the opportunity to sacrifice to help someone, they'll think about this. How many people you killed. How many lives you ruined."

Susie's wrathful gaze faded to be replaced with the same sad, disappointed look she had earlier. "…I really, really, really hope the reason you did all this is because you didn't know how to respond to these things with anything but hate. And as much as I hate you for what you did to my friends, to my family, to me… as much as everyone around me is **thrilled** at the idea of you burning in hell forever, I know, somewhere inside of me, that you suffering for all eternity won't make things right."

Susie stood. "For your sake, Highweller, let go of your hatred before it's too late. You live in the old testament, where everything was plagues, stoning, commandments and punishment. Isn't it time you started living in the new?"

Highweller shook with rage, incensed as Susie turned her back and began to leave. "You… arrogant little bitch. Who do you think you are, coming here after you sent me here to die, telling me **I** need to stop hating? That it's **my **fault I'm here? That you know the bible better than I do? Where do you get off acting like you, a little stuck-up deceptive bitch, know the law of man and God better than I do?! GET BACK HERE!" He demanded futilely, even as the guards grabbed him to pull him back from the glass. "I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU!"

But Susie was walking away, to someplace without guards, without inmates who beat up on ex-judges, without bars.

The realization struck Highweller full-force as he was led away- he had not broken her. He had not ruined her, or her city. It was just as Calvin had warned him- the world would not see him as a martyr or holy warrior. He had been branded a terrorist, grossly unfit for the position he had held for decades, and now they had thrown him into prison to await death, whether it was by a needle or by the repeated beatings finally catching up with him.

Then they would move on without him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. If he wasn't to die of natural causes, his death should have been a supernova of destruction, a raging holocaust that smoldered for decades, leaving irremovable fear in the hearts of all who survived his death throes.

He remembered, stumbling as he was led back to his cell, that the world was scheduled to end today, and for Highweller, it might as well have.

It was then that he noticed he wasn't going back to where his cell was located.

"You have fifteen minutes. After that, I can't make any promises." One of the guards spoke.

"That's more than enough. Thanks, I really appreciate this." Spoke the other in a familiar voice.

As the first guard veered off and walked away, he was shoved into a small, dimly lit room with a chair bolted to the floor, and he noticed, for the first time, that there wasn't anyone else- prisoner or guard- around.

"My daughter's sweet. Forgiving, even when she really does want to rip someone's heart out. She believes Jesus wants her to spread a message of redemption and mercy, not biblethumping." Came a cold, calm voice as he chained him to the chair, securing his arms and legs with leather straps so he couldn't move.

Highweller screamed wordlessly as Andrew Derkins moved to the door, locking it, turning back as his screams turned to choked gasps. The man was smiling and yet not smiling, it was clear that there was no joy in his face despite the pearly grin.

Andrew rolled his neck. "I watched my daughter come home, night after night, dirty, thirsty, bruised and sobbing, because of you. I waited for agonizing hours on end when your men took her from school to be kicked and beaten for your amusement. I watched helplessly as you attacked her again, when she was in the hospital, and threatened to nuke the city if anyone tried to help."

He took a large bottle of something that looked like water, but the hazard warnings on it clearly identified it as something else entirely. Andrew carefully undid the top, pouring out a few drops onto the stone floor, where they began to sizzle and burn, making Highweller resume his screams for help until Andrew wrapped duct tape around his head several times, making his screams barely audible even to him.

"I've been shot. I've been stabbed. I have been set on fire, tasered, hit with tear gas, and made to listen to presidential speeches. But nothing compares to the pain of having to watch my daughter suffer, day in and day out, because someone like you had a bruised ego over being proven wrong."

Andrew went behind him now, pulling into view what appeared to be an IV rack.

"The bad, or good news, depending on how you look at it, is that someone like you can't possibly imagine that sort of pain." Andrew spoke jovially as he fixed the bottle of acid into place.

"However, the good, or again, maybe bad news is…" he continued as he pulled out a long plastic tube. "…today, you're going to get a very good idea."

…

**DECEMBER 25****th**

In the past, Christmas for Calvin began at 7:00 am, sharp.

Now, all he wanted was to sleep in and enjoy the downtime between school and the world going insane. But he had things he wanted accomplished.

News of Palenski's actions had spread fast. The layoffs of several police officers- those who had ran for their lives instead of helping defend the hospital- had been significant for only a few days. What had the city's attention now was the massive effort Palenski had organized to help the city's homeless, in honor of what Susie Derkins had started.

He had made one more request of Calvin, that he write something on his blog to affirm that this was what the adults should have done, to make some bridge of solidarity between the youth and the law. He had obliged, but only if he gave something in return.

That something lay in a gift bag he now picked up as he headed downstairs, greeted by his mother and father, still in their bed robes.

"Merry Christmas, honey!" his mother smiled, then looked at him oddly as he headed to the door. "…going somewhere?"

"I need to give Susie her gift." Calvin said, stopping only to put on his coat. "Is it okay…"

His father and mother smiled at each other. "Go ahead. We'll wait up."

The air felt cleaner, somehow, after a fresh snow. Cold, fresh, free and crisp.

The world had changed, and changed terribly. Gone were the days where all his problems ended when he got home from school, the idea that horrible atrocities happened overseas or somewhere else. Even as he walked to Susie's house he kept a wary eye out for following cars or strange people following him.

There were terrible, horrible people in the world, there was no denying that.

But he'd be damned if he was going to let them turn him into a house-bound coward afraid of his own shadow.

He looked around, savoring the icy world- kids were making snowmen. Not of the same quality _he'd_ make, mind. But it was nice to know, that even now, those little temporary monuments to childhood innocence could exist.

Suddenly he was at Susie's doorstep, his heart beating inexplicably face, sweat beading on him despite the chill of the day.

He had stared down armed gunmen. He had kept his cool when tied to a chair and beaten, when handcuffed and left to be blown up. He had refrained from freaking out when he was fired upon, and he had managed to avoid pissing or shitting himself when interrogated by Andrew Derkins, the same man who had reduced Joe Caldern to a shuddering wreck. Now his knees shook at the prospect of giving a Christmas gift to the girl he liked-

There it was. Undeniable. Irrevocable. He realized now, that he hadn't gone after Susie blindly because of some hero impulse.

A world without Susie was one he wouldn't want to be in.

This startling mental epiphany demanded time, time to think, time to understand his emotions, scrambled as they were, but he realized, to his horror, that he'd already rung the doorbell.

Already Calvin could feel the mini-calvins inside him reacting, formulating a retreat strategy.

"Run! Just run!" Suggested #12, frantically banging on the intercom to physical controls.

"Negative! The situation can still be salvaged! Leave emotion stimulation package at doorstep. THEN RUN!" amended #23.

"No, wait, divert power to mental vocal processing! We can still salvage the mission as long as-"

Andrew Derkins opened the door, clad in army shirt and sweatpants, looking down at Calvin.

The blasphemous wails of the mini-calvins, all 2,103 of them, rattled around in his skull, but one had the decency to bash the controls in its panicked flailing.

"Merry Christmas!" Calvin offered weakly.

_Wait, wait. Okay, that's good. Let's work with that slowly._

"Oh, uh, Merry Christmas." Andrew Derkins responded slowly. He turned. "Susie, it's Calvin!" he called into the living room.

Calvin was no stranger to erotica- the internet, as they said, was for porn. If you could think it up, it was likely already being mass produced. At 13, he thought himself fairly numb to anything out there.

Yet the sight of Susie in a white sleep shirt and pajama bottoms raised his blood pressure at least ten points.

There was so much he wanted to say, now that they had a break from the inanity of school and from the insanity of madmen, but all he could manage, like he had before, was a simple "Hey."

She blushed and smiled. "Hey."

They stood there for a few minutes. "Wanna come in?"

"Uh… sure. Thanks." Calvin stammered.

Tina was there, sipping coffee. Maybe she smiled. Maybe she didn't. Calvin was too focused on Susie to think correctly.

"Merry Christmas." He said after what had to be several eternities. He held out the gift bag.

"Thanks!" Susie said, opening it, revealing tons of envelopes. She looked up quizzically. "What…"

"I… asked a favor from the mayor in return for writing that article I did a few days ago. It took some doing, but we found a lot of the people who you helped with the charity drive…"

Susie opened one, her mouth falling open. "These are…"

"Thank you notes."

As Susie stood there, open mouthed, Tina assertively took Andrew into the kitchen to let the two have some privacy. Susie stood there, trembling, as she opened letter after letter, reading them voraciously.

"I… I didn't know what else to give you." Calvin said after a moment, certain he'd brought up old wounds. "I just thought you should know that what you did really did help people, and they're really grate-"

And suddenly he couldn't finish, Susie was up in his face, eyes closed, warm and smelling like shampoo…

She was kissing him.

_Okay, wait, what? I thought she'd be disappointed, not ready and raring- oh, hell with it._

Calvin wrapped his arms around her lightly, enough that she could pull away if she wanted, but she just pulled in tighter.

She broke away, smiling as tears streaked her face. "Thank you." She breathed.

They stood there, hugging for several minutes.

So maybe the world was a cruel, harsh place. So maybe there were people out there who operated solely on sadism and self-centered desires. There were still things and people worth fighting for, and Calvin held one of them in his arms.

"Merry Christmas, noodle-head." Susie teased.

"Merry Christmas, Godzilla." Calvin sighed as he hugged her.

…

_More often than not, it's the adults that try to set the good example, and the kids who are expected to follow it. Too many people think that anyone under the age of 21 is incapable of having a good idea, that children should be, as the saying goes, 'seen and not heard'._

_Palenski has bucked that trend._

_The charity drive is funded by the city for it's homeless, and with donations pouring in, it is obvious that the impact it will have will be far greater than what Susie Derkins was able to do with $100 and a school full of kids with one weekend. But the person who started this trend hasn't been forgotten._

"_Susie forfeited her birthday money- all of it- her time and her energy to do what she thought… no, what she __**knew**__ was a great thing to do. Too often, we forget that children's personal income is incredibly reliant on their parents, so what seems like a small sacrifice to adults is a major sacrifice to teens. If an eighth-grader is willing to step up to help those less fortunate, then we as a city need to show that yes, we can- and we will- contribute towards such a cause."_

_There are still those who condemn Susie Derkins. They call her actions deceitful. They claim that Highweller was only trying to teach a lesson, and paint the man who embarked on a campaign of mudslinging, torture and terror as some sort of martyr. Even now Palenski is coming under fire for his open support of Susie's cause as an "enabler of an anarchist manipulator dead set on decimating Christian values". Responding to this accusations, Palenski had this to say:_

"_To quote Susie Derkins' response to Simon Highweller when he raved at her, "You keep on hating. I'll keep on helping people.""_

-December 24th post on Calvin's Blog, "Tiger Chronicles".

…

The hallway was long, exceedingly so. Not that he was complaining. It gave him time to think, form words that would hopefully leave his audience not wanting to kill him immediately.

"You've only got one shot at this." Warned his sole companion. "Don't screw it up."

"Yes ma'am." He said, nodding back at Mary Gathwells, her scarred face stern.

Cold. Cruel. To the point. Honest. There would be no second chances. Screwing this up would mean death, quick at best. His would be a wary, suspicious audience, and he couldn't blame them.

R.A.W. was dedicated to breaking pre-adults, and no matter how many times senior Breakers vouched for him, no matter how many times they played back the footage of his training session, there was the immutable, undeniable fact that zeal and obedience aside, he, Barry Wilkins, was still a pre-adult.

The facility they were in was in the middle of nowhere. He didn't have the security clearance to know where they were, geographically, and frankly he didn't care. His only concern was winning the approval of his fellow brothers and sisters in arms.

They approached the end of the hallway, where a podium stood before a mass of uniformed and armed R.A.W. soldiers. Some were mechanics, some were cooks, some were new recruits in army fatigues, others were decorated veterans. As per his request, his parents weren't there.

There were things he'd rather his parents be kept in the dark about, and today was one of them.

He stopped at attention, clad in a simple, grey, button-down uniform and shoes, as Gathwells, clad in military dress befitting a senior breaker of R.A.W.- black and red coat and slacks- approached the podium.

"Per the majority request of multiple senior officers of Rod and Whip's recruitment division," spoke Gathwells with a military formality, "Neoidentification Recruit Barry Wilkins is presented to make his motive statement. He will be allotted time to speak without interruption, after which he will be subject to the judgement of the standing officers of the recruitment division."

There was no applause, no jeering, no sign anyone had even heard Gathwells as she stepped aside and Barry took the podium. He crushed whatever nervousness he still had, weakness meant death in R.A.W., more so when you had scarred judges looking down their nose at you, wondering why you weren't being scalded with acid or flayed with whips instead of making a speech.

"It has been asked of me why I would join R.A.W., willingly and knowingly, when R.A.W. seeks the punishment of those in my age category. It has been asked why I am prepared to give my life for the cause of R.A.W. when it has taken the lives of those my age. It has been asked why I would attempt to turn my own brother over to R.A.W., knowing full well it would mean his eventual demise. It has been asked repeatedly why I am willing to punish those I am expected to sympathize with."

He smiled. "Today, I will answer all these questions to what I hope will be universal satisfaction."

"Ladies, gentlemen," Barry took a breath. "I. Love. Punishing. I do not love disciplining, I do not love correcting, I do not love **rehabilitation**," he emphasized the contempt on that word, noting raised eyebrows and a few upturned lips, "I love punishing."

"I love spreading misinformation to parents about schoolmates who have wronged me. The sobs and trembles of my classmates after their parents had raged at them for fights that were never fought, thefts that never happened, insults that were never made gave me the same strength of fortitude so many find in a cup of strong coffee."

"The anguish brought on a child with a planted weapon or contraband is fine wine to me. When I managed to get a honor roll student expelled for having a pocketknife in her locker that I planted, I was in ecstasy. When my brother sobbed on the couch after another day of unappreciated labor and slappings, only then could I fall asleep, serenaded by his choked misery."

The looks had become less derisive, less predatory.

"But these trivial delights did not prepare me for what I feel here." He spoke softly, his breath catching as he recalled the wonders he had seen.

"I saw heaven when I saw the ungrateful children given rags for clothing and scraps for food, shivering in cold metal cells, their wounds festering, their hopes dying. I found purpose when I was presented with a bound, blasphemous girl whose lies offended me to even hear the gist of them, and I was given a stunclub to teach her the consequences of her wickedness. I understood was satisfaction was, at long last, when I saw news reports about hysterically grieving mothers and fathers reduced to sobbing wrecks when they heard their sons and daughters had died just seconds before they had arrived via last-minute, desperate flights to try and have one final goodbye before whip-venom disease dragged their souls to hell."

The sneers were back, but they were accompanied by knowing smiles and nodded heads, fellow connoisseurs of the art of breaking bodies and spirits.

"I knew agony," and he gripped his heart to emphasize the point "utter and unspeakable agony only when I realized the same girl I was assigned to break had escaped thanks to terrorists. The humiliation that she still lives and breathes is a lingering shame I can only hope to mitigate with her screaming death before her mother's eyes. I only knew what it meant to truly hate," and he clenched his fist and slammed it against the podium, "when the Sinbreeders had, through trickery and deception, forced us to abandon our post, and then had the unmitigated audacity to deny our beloved home an honorable death, violating her noble body with their inquisitions and investigations."

"You ask why I join R.A.W., knowing you are punishers, and have authority to punish me with pain and death? It is because I prefer death at your hands more than I do at the hands of the Defiler Jason Fox, my traitorous Irredeemable brother, or, High Father forbid, the Liemaker and Sinbreeder Calvin Halgins. To be flayed alive at your hands, ladies and gentlemen, after you would suffer me to speak, would be an honorable end. To be shot in the back by the cowards who put one of our homes to ruin would be an agony I could never bear."

"You ask why I would give my life to R.A.W.? It is because R.A.W. has given me life, true life with **meaning**, not the slow-motion suicide that awaits me in the outside world. To be asked to die for R.A.W., that my life could help, if but for a moment, turn the mighty gears that move our great machine of justice forward would be an honor of unimaginable greatness. To have to abide by societies' beliefs of rehabilitation?" He paused, giving a derisive smirk. "I would rather you use the acid baths on me, first."

"You would ask me why I would turn my own brother over to R.A.W.? My question is accordingly, "why not"? He is headstrong. He is confident. He believes he has worth. He is the rank-and-file vermin that I have despised for all my life, yes, even before the day I was brought to R.A.W."

"Finally, to your question of why I would, against society and your expectation of me, punish those who logic would dictate I would emphasize and unite with, I have no great explanation. I have only three words, which I gave to Hope Miles, and I now give to you."

They were leaning in now, ready to hear his crucial answer…

"Because. I. Can."

He stepped away from the podium, as he saw a cruel smile form on Gathwells face as she took his place, addressing the crowd. "You have heard the candidates' defense. You have heard his answers to the questions presented him. You have heard his motives and his impression of Rod and Whip and its goals. Judges, what say you?"

Men and women clad in red and black robes conferred with nodding heads until one stood. "We find the neoidentification candidate, Barry Wilkins, fit for immediate duty and induction into Rod and Whip."

Barry was led off the stage before the judges, and he knelt as one, a rough shaven, bald, angry giant of a man drew a double-edged sword from a gold scabbard.

"Barry Wilkins, by the power invested in me by the High Father, I pronounce you no longer a less-than-adult. I command you therefore to, on pain of death, wage war against your sinful former brethren, to seek to aid and honor R.A.W. in all its endeavors, and to silence all who would even dare whisper against our holy and perfect judgement. On pain of death, Barry Wilkins, can you vow to do this?"

"I can, and I do." Barry replied as he felt the razor edge against his throat.

"Then rise, and begin your work as not a sinful child, but a righteous agent of Rod and Whip!" the man thundered, tapping him on the shoulder.

And the crowd cheered as Barry, the first Neoidentified child, stood.

There would be hard work ahead. Grunt jobs. Drudgery. The damage done during last summer had set R.A.W. back severely. But the time for hiding and recovery was nearly done.

It would soon be time to strike back, and Barry, for one, would be ready.


End file.
